


Desperate to Connect

by thelovelylydia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, A Song of ice, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-01-26 05:07:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 58
Words: 206,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1675820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelovelylydia/pseuds/thelovelylydia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa is in need of security since the last of her family has been butchered at the Red Wedding; but what if Baelish cannot come through with his promise? She develops a new strategy in the fight for her survival; one that will impact the lives of her and Tyrion Lannister forever. Slight AU. Mix of Book and Show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Planning

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to this little Game of Thrones piece which has been floating about my head for a couple weeks. And it was needing to come out.
> 
> A fair warning, my dear readers, that this fict WILL have spoilers from the second half of A Storm of Swords and quite probably A Feast for Crows and A Dance with Dragons. It won't be for a bit, but I do want to warn you of this!
> 
> Otherwise, this is rated M for further sexual encounters and material. So just, yeah, be mature about it. And, as always, reviews are welcomed, criticism appreciated, and flames- well, please don't leave them at my doorstep.
> 
> Without further ado,
> 
> Lydia

The sun was bright as it filtered through the billowing silk curtains. It kissed her pale skin as she sat in the window looking over the waters before her. _Soon, soon I will be free_.

Sansa closed her eyes as she pressed her head back on the wood frame of the window. But what would freedom bring her? Certainly not her mother or her brother, both of whom were slaughtered at the Frey's wedding. It would not bring her back Rickon or Bran. It would not rise Ayra up. It would not bring Jon back from the wall. And it would never bring her father back.

She felt the tears pressing against her eyes, causing them to burn and clumping in her lashes. She was trying to take deep breaths, trying to focus on the sea. _Lord Baelish will come._ She tried over and over again to convince herself that Petyr Baelish would come to her rescue; he would come as her knight in shining armor. Even though every man had failed her before. _But I must believe that he will come through._

 _And then what?_ Her thoughts raged against each other. _He will take you to Winterfell where the walls are torn down and your people slaughtered?_

"Sansa," A gentle voice brought her from her thoughts. It came from across the room. Sansa sniffed back her tears and brought her sleeves to her eyes, quickly wiping away her tears. _My tears for my traitor brother and mother._ She turned with a tight smile on her pink lips. It was not a handmaid's voice or some servant girl's call that had stirred her from her trance. It was Margaery's bright brown eyes which greeted her, a short smile was on the girl's lips. "Sansa, there is no need to hide your tears."

"Yes, your grace," Sansa said. She curtsied where she stood, her spine straight, her eyes downcast.

"Oh, Sansa, you must not treat me in such a way while we are in private." Margaery strode forward, her hands reaching out and enveloping Sansa's hands. Sansa looked up at the soon to be queen with a straight face. "I know that you are grieving,"

Sansa tried to keep her mouth straight. She bit the inside of her cheek as she tried to keep the rush of tears at bay. She found it harder to breath and her throat was raw. But it was Margaery's kindness which felled the wall.

"It is okay, Sansa, for you to cry."

Sansa's body disobeyed her mind as she began to weep. She felt her legs giving way and she stumbled back against the window. Margaery's strong arms came around her shoulders. The older girl slid under Sansa, cradling her in her lap. Margaery wrapped her arms around Sansa, her hand stroking the woman's head. "Shh, shh," Margaery hushed her. "You let it all out. It will be okay."

"How can you say that?" Sansa's voice was shaking with sorrow as she sat upright. "How can you say that it will be alright? I am in the midst of the lion's den with no house to return to and no family to come to my rescue." She shook her head, her tears giving way to a rage she had buried deep inside of her chest. "No, I do have a family. I'm bound to these lions, married to the most despised man of all and he tries so hard to make things right but...but he cannot."

"Sansa," Margaery spoke sternly to her.

"I am sorry, my grace," Sansa pulled herself away from Margaery's grip. "I weep and yet you are to marry the true monster."

"Sansa," Margaery spoke more loudly this time. "I did not come here to receive the pity you have already granted me. I came here because I want to aid and encourage you planning what it is you are going to do. You are right; you are the only Stark left."

"I'm not even a Stark," Sansa replied bitterly. "I'm a...a...a _Lannister_."

"Sansa, remember what I told you about our situations?" Margaery ignored Sansa's outburst, wrapping her arms around the young lady's shoulders.

"You said...you said I was to make the best of it," Sansa murmured. "But Margaery, I just do not know how, anymore. They killed my mother and brother, they _slaughtered_ them like...like _animals_."

"And it is done and you are the last Stark, the only heir to Winterfell."

"Which means nothing because there is no Winterfell left." Sansa doubled over, cradling her face in her hands.

"Winterfell is not just bricks and woods and plaster, Sansa. Winterfell is a tradition, it is the home of the Starks, the great banner of the North. Must I repeat myself."

"But what am _I_ supposed to do?" Sansa shook her head.

"You are a married woman now," Margaery said. Sansa turned her head to look up at her friend. Margaery's dark eyebrow was raised as she looked upon Sansa.

"No, no I can't. I can't bring myself to do it." Sansa shook her head.

"Sansa, you have said even now that Lord Tyrion has done you no wrong. And if he wants to please you- make him promise you Winterfell."

"I cannot make a demand of that." Sansa sat upright, turning to face Margaery. She rest her hands in her lap.

"You cannot? Do you not think that Lord Tyrion would not want his hand in the North?"

"But I don't want him to be Lord of the North." Sansa shook her head violently.

"Sansa, you are so...sweet." Margaery reached out and cradled the girl's cheek with her long thin fingers. "You are so sweet, but silly."

"I do not understand..."

"You are not thinking properly in your situation. If you have a child, then he will be the heir of Winterfell. Your claim will hold, since a man will sit upon the throne and not a woman. We are mistaken for the weaker sex."

"But Lord Tyrion-"

"Will be held captive by your...your womanly charms." Margaery's smile slipped across her lips. "And you will teach your son properly. You can make him a real Stark. Teach him the honor of his grandfather." Margaery ran her fingers down Sansa's neck, tangling her fingers in the girl's auburn hair. "You are fourteen, Sansa, and you are surrounded by lions. I have learned to bloom, you can learn to fight. And from what I recall, wolves need a pack."

"But what you are suggesting-" Sansa began.

"Sansa, you cannot remain in your state forever," Margaery scolded the girl gently. "It is better to...to ensure that you are not open to prey."

"Is it because Joffrey wants to rape me?" Sansa's eyes filled with tears. "I cannot be safe here, anywhere."

"You could be safe, if you used your husband. He is as suspicious of these lions as you are. You need only open eyes to see." She pulled Sansa's head against her chest. "Sansa, you cannot hope to remain as sweet as you are, if you want to survive. You know this, foolish girl, why are you so reluctant to yield now?"

"Because I am not in a position where I am forced," Sansa closed her eyes as she listened to Margaery's heartbeat. She felt shame washing over her body like a downpour, her eyes filling with tears once again. "My...my lord has spared me from...from more humiliation than is necessary."

"Than do you not think it is time to repay a favor, especially one that will benefit you both?" Margaery said. Sansa still shook her head.

"Now is not the time to be stubborn, Sansa. You need to yield."

"I am not as brave as you are, Margaery." Sansa shouted. Margaery reached across and placed her hand across Sansa's mouth.

"Hush, child. Before the rest of the castle hears you." Margaery let go of her mouth and grabbed hold of Sansa's hands instead. "You are a Stark, Sansa, you are braver than you think. And you are a smart girl. You will realize this is the best decision, really. It will ensure your protection, it will ensure your inheritance. Sansa, _you may find freedom yet_. Do not squander that, I would kill for that freedom." Margaery's eyes narrowed as she sat upright, a small shake in her shoulders. "Perhaps I _will_ kill for that."

Sansa bowed her head again. "I...I will think about what you have said."

"Good," Margaery stood and leaned over to kiss her forehead gently. "You will find the strength. I will pray to the seven for you."

Sansa felt her heart groan as she made the promise. And then a further thought entered her mind. _But what if Lord Baelish does come to my rescue. What if he is able to bring me to some safe haven? He will not take me with a Lannister baby in my belly. But if he does not stay to his word, like some have suggested-_ "Do I have to tell?" Sansa asked. "Can I keep it in private?"

Margaery's eyebrows crossed in confusion, but she nodded her head. "If your lord agrees to remain discreet- though, I do not know why you would be worried about-"

"I have my reasons, as you have yours." Sansa interrupted. Margaery's eyebrows raised and she nodded her head.

"Alright, my Northern wolf. You know how to play this game and, now that I have stirred you to return to it, I will let you play your pieces the way you see fit." She stood and kissed Sansa on the cheek. "You would not have survived so long if you did not." She turned and began to make her way across the room, her blue skirts brushing along the stone floor, her heels clicking in the empty space.

Though, the room was not silent for long. The door creaked open and gave way to Tyrion, who waddled indignantly through the doorway. He started when he saw Margaery posed near the door, bowing at his waist. "Your grace,"

"Your lord," Margaery looked down upon him with a smile. She turned one last time before leaving the room to look back at Sansa. "My sweet girl, do not leave me out of your secrets. I shall be in dire want to know of your decision. Though, I know you will choose wisely."

"Of course, your grace." Sansa stood and curtsied.

"I shall leave you both to your supper," She exited the room with grace, the door shutting as quietly as a wood door could muster in her wake.

Tyrion looked back at the door and then to Sansa. His blonde eyebrows furrowed as his scarred face contorted into a frown. "I did not know that Lady Margaery was going to be paying you a visit, else I would have spent more time in my books."

"It was a...surprise." Sansa's voice was still thick with tears, but she swallowed them back this time around.

"A pleasant one, I could imagine. I do not doubt that not even my nephew's arrogance could damage her spirit." Tyrion said. He was trying to make small talk, trying to get her to speak to him. And she wanted nothing more than for him to leave her alone in that giant bed of his and let her weep for nights to come.

"Indeed," Sansa replied sharply. Tyrion approached closer and Sansa sat further upright, her eyes returning once more to her lap.

"Are you alright, my lady?" Tyrion paused when he saw her stiffen. Sansa looked him in the eyes, wishing hers to stop their rivers. She steeled herself, her crumpled down fortresses once again returning to full height.

"I am, my lord."

"Tyrion. My name is Tyrion. And it would bring me peace if you would call me that," He stopped in his talk and looked up at her with soft blue eyes. "Though, I am sure you wish no peace upon me after the slaughter that my father has done upon your family."

"They were traitors," Sansa replied coldly. She did not dare look into his eyes for fear that any contact would make her break. Even if it involved a Lannister.

"Sansa," Tyrion approached her further and took her hand in his. He was gentle. Always so gentle with her. She dared looking into his eyes. "You do not have to pretend around me. Your father was a great man, your mother a woman of honor. Your brother was only doing what he thought was right-"

"But they deserved their end," She replied. Rehearsed, over and over again, for the day when Cersei would come to her with her empty apologies and poor attempts as consoling, _I f_ Cersei came around. She seemed a lot less amused with her little dove since Sansa was replaced by a red rose.

She could feel Tyrion's temper begin to rise and she knew it was not long before he would turn to the cup of wine that sat for him on the table. "I forbid you from ever saying those words."

"Yes, my l-Tyrion." She answered, but did acknowledge his name in this instant. Best she saved his anger for another day. Tyrion grumbled and shook his head, making his way over as foreseen to his cup of wine.

"When do the serving girls come about with dinner? I am absolutely famished." He took a sip of his cup.

"I am sure it will not be long," Sansa did not stir from her seat. Though, the question which Margaery had placed in her head was burning through her mind. _Would I be able to close my eyes and spread my legs for...for him? Just enough for him to put an heir in me?_ Sansa shuddered.

"Sansa, please, tell me what is troubling you. I was in earnest when I made my promise that no harm would come to you."

Sansa looked up from her hands for a moment. She made eye contact with him and took a deep breath. "I was just wondering-"

She was interrupted by the sound of the door opening and several serving girls entered the room with trays of food. Sansa stood as they entered, smoothing out her golden skirts below her. Tyrion sat paused in his chair still listening to Sansa, but she did not finish her sentence. It would have to wait until the two were alone once again. A situation Sansa never dreamed of actually wanting.


	2. Weaving

Shae entered the room behind the whirl of servants bearing food with a new gown in arms. Sansa held her breath; it was another dress for her to try on for the wedding. Cersei kept sending more and more as if to remind Sansa that it was not she who was marrying Joffery, she no longer would be the future queen.

"M'lady, after you dine I have been ordered to have you try this dress," Shae laid the dress over the bed, not looking once at Tyrion as she passed, though she found a way to pass by closer to him. Sansa walked over to the table slowly, listening but not responding to Shae's words."M'lady-"

"Yes, I heard you." Sansa replied as she sank into the chair across from Tyrion. Shae came to place her hands on Sansa's shoulders, gently squeezing them as she leaned close to Sansa's face.

"Yes, m'lady." She murmured.

"If you do not mind allowing Sansa and I to sup alone tonight," Tyrion interjected. Sansa felt her handmaiden stand straight behind her, placing a hand on the back of her chair.

"Yes, please," Sansa turned to look at Shae. Shae's dark eyes studied her face, concern crossing her features. Sansa nodded her head. Shae let out a small sigh and turned, leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

"That one certainly has her eye on you," Tyrion look across at Sansa from under his deep brow.

"She is a good handmaiden," Sansa replied, laying her hands on the table.

Before the two sat a dinner of roasted chicken among candied vegetables. The smell was one that should have Sansa's mouth watering at the sight, but she found the food less and less appetizing the longer she stayed within the walls of King's Landing. She forced herself to nibble pieces here and there so as not to cause Tyrion to become upset with her for wasting away even further, but she felt no hunger. Not any longer.

Tyrion, however, was reaching across the table and bearing testament to the hunger he expressed earlier in the evening. Sansa could not watch him eat, not when she was on the threshold of pondering Margaery's advice. Sansa was sure of one thing, she needed to make sure that such promises which Margaery made would come to pass.

"What was it you were going to ask me, Sansa?" Tyrion paused in his noisy chewing and took a draught of wine. Sansa took the moment to glance up, swallowing to wet her throat. Her stomach was heavy as she looked into his light eyes which watched her with patience. "Sansa?"

"If..if..I..I mean," Sansa had lost all control of her words. She was letting them master her and she felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment at the struggle. Her eyes dropped to her lap once again. She took a breath and tried again. "If I...I mean, we..." Those words again. "If we had an...heir, "It was so less convicting to avoid 'child', less binding. "Would he be Lord of Winterfell?"

She kept her eyes downward; she could not bear to look him in the eyes at this moment, not with her cheeks flushing so red and her head spinning. Tyrion remained silent, causing her heart to drop into her throat.

"What are you asking, Sansa?"

"Precisely what I said, my lord." She looked up at him now, trying to control her breaths.

"Well, I suppose so. Since he-if you had a male-would be proper heir to Winterfell, what with your brother and mother-" He paused, shaking his head. "Yes, as I can see it right now he would be. Why do you ask? Are you fucking one of the squires? You have not discovered Podrick's talents have you?" Tyrion had a note of jest in his voice, but it only humiliated Sansa further. He let out a small cough. "I beg your apology, my lady. That jest was made in poor taste, I am just taken by surprise by the question."

"I was just wondering...wondering what would happen to Winterfell now." She said. Tyrion took another swig of wine and swallowed wetly. Sansa pressed her lips together regretting the inquiry all together.

"It is a very valid pondering, Sansa." Tyrion assured her. "You needn't be ashamed to ask."

Sansa nodded her head again, remaining silent still. His kindness was something that kept her from jumping from the window, ending the line of the Starks. Ending it all together.

"Did Margaery say something to you?" He asked before downing more wine. He would be drunk soon enough.

"She reminded me that Winterfell was no more, that King's Landing is my home now." She swallowed the lie, trying to convince herself that it was the truth. Tyrion paused and looked at her with furrowed brows.

"So you naturally wondered where the charred remains would go?" Tyrion shook his head. "I am rather distasteful this evening, Sansa, forgive me. My sister has put me into another bad mood and-"

"Do not get drunk." The sentence surprised even Sansa as it flew from her lips. She was tired of seeing him slowly become overpowered by the wine, reduced to a muttering wreck by the end of the night. Tyrion sat straight from his reclining position to look at her.

"Does my dutiful wife command something of me? It is a strange day indeed." He mused, placing his cup on the table.

"I am sorry, my lord, I am unsure of where such demands came from." She hung her head. Tyrion's laughter startled her.

"I take no offense to my lady's suggestion," Tyrion pushed his cup further away. "The next thing I know you will be begging me to come into that bed over there, to put that heir you are pondering about in your belly."

Sansa's eyes widened, she kept her head down to mask her surprise. The sound of the chair scraping against the floor filled the room and she heard his footsteps coming closer. She shied away from his touch when he first reached out, but relaxed her arm letting him take her hands in his.

"Sansa, I hold to my word. I will not command that of you, not until you want me to." She turned her head to look at him. His face was level with hers for a change and she could see honesty in his blue eyes. She forced a small smile at him. He was at least kind to her. _Keep your focus on that, Sansa. Remember that he has been kind, like Margaery said. It will make it so much more bearable._

Tyrion reached out hesitantly, pausing for a moment, before extending his arm to brush her hair away from her face, cradling her cheek in his rough hand. Sansa's body sat rigidly in the chair, still not able to relax under his fingertips. Tyrion's thumb ran across the skin of her cheek, the touch causing her to shudder involuntarily. He let go of her.

"Sansa, I am so sorry," he offered her. "But a million apologies will never bring your family up from the dead."

He let go of her hand and made his way to the door. "I am going to the library. Please, my wife, do not wait up for me." He said with a laugh.

Sansa let her breath go as she crumpled on the table before her _._ How was she going to do this? How was she going to be able to lie down and take it? What if it did not work?

Sansa banished the thoughts from her mind as she stood and pushed her chair into the table, returning once more to her spot in the frame of the window. The one that looked over the setting sun on the darkening sea.

* * *

Shae returned as she said later that night. She was quiet and she did not look Sansa in the eye, did not offer her normally smile and her comforting squeeze on the arm. The girl knew that her handmaid was upset with her for sending her away at dinner. Sansa was not yet sure she could trust anyone with her intentions, too many whispers flooded the castle and she knew better than to place her confidences with others. She would have to share her coming secret with one person, she supposed, since it took two to form an heir.

"I am sorry, Shae," She spoke up.

"Why do you apologize to me? I am your handmaid, you send me where you need to send me." Shae pulled the dress tightly against her belly, confining Sansa's rib cage in a metal bodice. She let out a gasp. "You are becoming skinny, m'lady."

Sansa looked down and agreed that her hips were a little less filled out. She should have eaten the supper that sat cold on the table. A waste which could have fed a poor man's family, or so Margaery would scold her.

"I have not had much appetite for food," Sansa replied.

"Than you have not much appetite for curves," Shae bit back. "Not that you get much use from them." Shae sucked in a quick breath. "I apologize again, m'lady, I spoke out wrongly."

"No, you are correct." Sansa hung her head, crossing her hands together. The long red sleeves of the dress laced with golden curve designs touched the ground. It was going to be nothing but a hindrance that day. Something for both her and Tyrion to get tangled up in. Something to cause for more humiliation for the both of them. "Does it hurt?"

"What do you mean?" Shae asked as she untied the girl's dress. She pulled the fabric from her body, leaving Sansa in her shift as she went to fetch the girl's bed clothes.

"When you...when you are with someone for the first time?"She sank onto the bed. Shae paused as she folded the dress over the back of Sansa's vanity chair. "I mean, you...you have done it before?"

Shae smiled mischievously, "I still do not know what you are asking for?"

"If you have...well..."Sansa flushed a brilliant red. "well... _fucked_ someone before?"

Shae let out a whimsical laugh as she came back to Sansa's side to clothe her. "Such a sweet girl with such a foul mouth."

"Well, you are the one who _made_ me say it." Sansa tried to defend herself.

"Such a thing should not make you so red in the face," Shae pulled Sansa's bed clothes over Sansa's head.

Sansa remained quiet. The only thing she could think of when she thought of such an act was the way those men held her ankles down, how she thrust against their grips as they took out their anger on her. Their anger toward Joffrey, not toward her. That was what she reminded herself every time she woke up from the nightmare of the man driving a knife into her throat.

"It hurts," Shae said. Sansa looked into the woman's dark eyes. "It hurts, I will not deceive you, m'lady. But then it gets better. You just have to give it...some time. If you are lucky enough to yield to one who knows what he is doing."

"Margaery," Sansa began, trying to speak without blushing. "Margaery told me that...that we are hard to please."

"The queen sounds like she has tried out some who knew what they were doing, and others who did not."

"Oh no! The queen is a maiden. She did not lie with Renly-" Sansa was shocked by the way Shae spoke of the woman.

"Sansa, does it matter?" Shae asked. Sanson could not reply. "Why are you asking anyways, my little dear. What are you planning ?"

"Nothing," Sansa shook her head. Shae escorted Sansa to the chair before her vanity and reached for the girl's brush, then began to work through the girl's reddish hair. Sansa was forced to see her reflection in the looking glass; her sunken face, her sad blue eyes, her permanent frown. She used to be beautiful once, not that it mattered much. Not when she was bound to her enemies by marriage and kept from the arms of a handsome and valiant knight. Sansa found herself holding back tears once again, but this time they were of self pity.

"Sweet girl, it is time for you to sleep, rest your little head on your pillow." Shae braided Sansa's hair down her back tightly. Sansa stood and found her way to the room's bed. She lay on the right side, stiffly laying back on the mattress. Shae blew out the candles as she left the room leaving Sansa in complete darkness.


	3. Actions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is one of those "M" chapters. I tried to handle this as tactfully as possible, and while it seems early in the story, I beg you trust me in why I have had this encounter come as soon as the third chapter.
> 
> Thank you once again for reading, and especially for reviewing. And sorry this chapter is a bit long! There was no natural stopping point in the midst of it!- Lydia

"Have you thought about my suggestion?" Margaery asked Sansa as the two walked through the garden arm in arm. Margaery had insisted that Sansa should go out and walk among the flowers and the fresh air to lift her burdened spirits. Sansa had agreed with the woman, more because Margaery was going to be the queen and less because she actually wanted to.

"I have," Sansa replied, blinking against the harsh sun. She had met with Ser Dontos that morning, speaking of the details of her escape. Lord Baelish had promised that she would be travelling with him to the Vale, escaping in the crowds during one of the upcoming royal engagements. Sansa was not sure how this was going to be possible with so many watchful eyes.

"And what have you decided?" Margaery stopped and turned to look into Sansa's eyes, her brown ones dancing with curiosity.

"I have decided that- that if would seem a good decision." Sansa began.

"Than why do I sense hesitation in your choice?"

"I wish there was another way to come about my...my freedom." Sansa said. Margaery sighed.

"We and our gods forsaken places, Sansa. If only we had been born with a cock between our legs, we may have more say in the matter."

"Cersei once told me that what we have between ours is still very powerful." Sansa confessed.

"She is certainly not wrong, but it is not as powerful a tool as some might wish it were." Margaery took Sansa's hands in her own.

"How am I supposed to ask? Should I be honest?" Sansa looked into the soon to be queen's eyes once more.

"Only you can answer those questions, Sansa, I cannot tell you everything to do. I am not Joffrey after all." She smiled wickedly. Sansa took a deep breath.

"But you might not want to wait too long." Margaery leaned forward and whispered. The young wolf nodded her head in understanding.

 _It will have to begin...tonight_. She was not prepared for this. She had not yet mustered up the strength to have a decent conversation with her legal husband, much less even think of lying in that bed with her legs spread and his...manhood...deep in her. _Though, all marriages start this way, is that not what mother had said?_

Thinking of her mother brought a fresh wave of sadness over her body. _Furthermore, I do not want to fall in love. I want to have my home back._

"I wish I could know what you are thinking, sweet girl. There must be plots a many tucked under that beautiful hair of yours." She reached out and touched Sansa's cheek gently. Sansa closed her eyes.

"I am just...preparing myself." She assured the woman. Margaery smiled.

"I must be off, my sweet lady. I have to amuse Joffrey this afternoon with whatever story fits his fancy."

"You are a much better liar than I have ever been." Sansa confessed to her.

"Do not fret, Sansa. Innocence is just as beautiful as flattery, if even more so." Margaery turned to make her way out of the gardens.

"Margaery," Sansa called after her for a moment. Margaery turned to look at Sansa, paused as she waited for her to continue. "Have you ever...known a man?"

"Sansa, there are some matters which a queen should be discreet about." Margaery smiled at Sansa with a wink. Sansa shook her head.

She was about to know what Margaery knew soon enough.

* * *

She did not know what to do, to ask for it, so she figured the best she could do was send Shae away for the evening and sit naked in her bed. It was one way to get his attention, if not the loudest. She grew quite cold in the wait, her breasts ached in the chill, so she pulled a blanket around her shoulders as she continued her vigil for the door to open. It seemed like tonight was bound to be another camp out in the library. This was a fool's errand. _Perhaps the gods are telling me that this is a bad idea._ She lay across the bed, placing her head on her arms as she waited.

She was not tired, despite the fitful sleep she had received since she was married. She was always on the wait for someone to bring her demise. There was Joffrey and Cersei and Tywin. Despite his kindness, she was even wary of Tyrion.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the door opening. Tyrion entered, much to her mixed hope and despair, but he did not look to the bed. _Of course he did not. We are not friends, we are civil. A civil union._

He made his way to the table and left a book on its wood. The room was dimly lit with candles, so he had not noticed her move to sit upright, the blanket falling off of her shoulders. Her auburn hair was cascading down her chest. She was trying to play the seduction game, albeit badly, but in the end she wanted him to just get it over with.

He turned and she then realized that he saw her, finally. He paused for a moment and she could see in the candlelight that he was examining her breasts, the soft skin of her tummy. She did her best to make eye contact with him. She concentrated on the scar that began at the top of his right eyebrow. Tyrion then turned quickly, grabbing the book in his hand.

"I am sorry, my lady," he muttered. Sansa had to act.

"No, stay." She called out. Tyrion stopped at the door, turning to look at her. He kept his eyes on her face, not looking down at the slight curve that was left of her body. Sansa had to speak soon or she would lose her chance. "I am willing to yield."

"So soon?" Tyrion's eyebrows rose and his glance went downwards once again.

"I...I..I am a terrible liar," Sansa hung her head.

"Wrap yourself in a blanket and we can perhaps talk about what has changed your mind? Have you lost your maidenhood and are in need of a cover? I do not care, Sansa, what you have done with other men. What you would _want_ to do with other men..."

"No!" Sansa cried out. "I am covering for nothing." She stood and Tyrion looked away as the sheet fell from her body.

"I would prefer you put some clothes on before we talk." Tyrion was growing noticibly uncomfortable in the situation. "You do not want to make a hasty decision, little wolf-"

"I want an heir!" Sansa cried out. Tyrion looked up at her with his mouth agape.

"My lady, please, wrap yourself in the sheets and we can talk-" Tyrion tried again.

"I have talked and I have thought. And I need to have Winterfell returned to its rightful house."

"You seem to forget, my lady, that the...heir...would be half Lannister?"

"I see no better option. There are no Direwolves left." Sansa refused to wrap herself in the sheets. "I am not asking for much. I am asking for you to do what you are known for."

"While that is a low blow which is not appreciated," Tyrion returned to the table to place distance between her extremely nude body and his reddening face. "I cannot promise that Winterfell will be yours. It legally is right now, and would foreseeably be secured by your male son, but as you know, my family is good at changing hands-"

"I do not know what else I can do, but run." Sansa bit her lip. She could not give away her second plan. He could not know, he would certainly tell and Lord Baelish would not be able to free her from King's Landing, if he did carry through on his promises. Promises were spider webs around here; finely woven but easily broken.

"Sansa, you are asking me to-" Tyrion's hands dropped and he shook his head at her.

"Do you not want me?" Sansa asked. It was a stupid question, since she did not want him.

"No, Sansa, no-" He came closer to her, trying to keep his eyes above her bare body. "I cannot lie when I thought about...well, that does not matter now. But you know that when you lie with me, then we will be consummated."

"I want to keep this private." Sansa said.

"You are a girl with so many strange requests. 'Fuck me, but do not tell'. Is this part of the Northern tradition?"

"Do you want your Lord Father to know that you have obeyed his word?" Sansa was learning quickly which cards to play. And Tyrion rolling over in obedience to his family was not something he wanted to do.

Tyrion let out a chuckle. "The lady is clever, and well thought out." He still refused to look below her chin, but she could tell he was itching for the sex between her legs.

Sansa made her way down from the bed to stand before him. She sank to her knees, the floor cold and rough on her tender skin. She needed his help and she could not deny her desperation\n right now. "My lord, please, my family is crumbling below me and I am alone. I see no other way to restore Winterfell to the right family; I could not bear the thought of my home eventually falling into the hands of Cersei or your father. "

Tyrion's eyes dropped to the ground, he was paused in thought. Sansa sunk back on her heels with a sigh.

"I cannot deny a beautiful woman," Tyrion groaned. "You may blow the candle out. I did not lie when I said I can perform as well as any knight you had hopes to wed."

Sansa looked up at him with a look of relief. "What do we, what do I do?"

"If you wish to hide this, we had better lay you on a blanket. Feed it to the fire later." Tyrion let out a dry laugh and shook his head. "Blow the candles out and lay on your bed. The rest will take little effort for you."

Sansa obeyed. Tyrion went to undressing himself as the room went slowly dark. The bundle in Sansa's belly only grew tighter as the room grew even more quiet. She turned to look at him, her first glimpse of a man indecent. Even in the dim light, the sight and experience was not as thrilling as she had imagined in her youthful days. She took a deep breath and blew out the last candle. The fire was glowing with embers in the corner of the room, casting an eerie light. _How appropriate._ Sansa mused as she lay down a thick red covering over the bed. _Disheartening and blood colored.._

She did as she was told, returning to the bed and laying on her back. She closed her eyes as she wished the minutes away. _Let this be over. Please._ She prayed to the gods.

And he was there. She could feel his weight in the bed, pushing the mattress down. Sansa's body went rigid as she spread her legs and sucked in her breath. She kept her eyes closed.

She let out a gasp as she felt him between her legs. She gripped the blanket beneath her, trying to keep from calling out. His cock was not as small as he had given the impression at Joffrey's wedding. She could most definitely feel it pushing apart her insides, making its way up into her pelvis. She felt tears coming to her eyes as he pushed deeply into her. She felt as if she was being pulled apart and filled all at once. _If only...oh there are no wishes for a stupid girl like you!_

He began pulling out, slowly. It was a much more comforting feeling between her legs. How long could she hold out without letting go of her lip to cry out in pain and dismay? She gripped the blanket tighter beneath her fists as he rushed into her again. It was a quick few hard thrusts, each growing a little less painful, before he pulled away from her altogether. It was over. Not only had she extinguished another dream in the unkind Lannister land, but had finally consummated a marriage that she could have been rid of as soon as...Sansa closed her eyes against the tears that were threatening to tear her body apart as she thought of Winterfell. She pushed the thought from her mind as she sat up. Tyrion sat before her, looking at her.

"I am sorry, Sansa." He muttered.

"What? What has happened?" She sat upwards in fright. "Did something happen incorrectly?"

"I cannot do this," Tyrion looked up at her. "I mean, I am going to do what I promised. But you are a board in front of me- I fuck a wall and not a woman."

Sansa's cheeks turned pink. "Then what has happened."

"You had better get up and wash all remains away. I shall take care of the blanket."

Sansa obeyed again, rising and making her way over to the basin which she had asked Shae to fill for the evening. She took hold of the cloth that had been left to her and began to clean away the blood that had been spilled and then dumped the water over the balcony. She turned with the rag in her hands to watch Tyrion throw the crimson blanket into the fire. She came over to his side, to throw the bloodstained cloth in besides the blanket.

"There, we have done our duty," Sansa replied stiffly.

"I am afraid I did not hold up on my bargain." Tyrion stood in front of her, naked and shriveled. She tried to look away.

"What has happened? You have been false to me?" Sansa felt the tears catch in her throat.

"Sansa, you are being taught a horrible lesson," Tyrion looked up at her. "And I do not want to be another person who has come along to exploit you without giving you something in return. I could not let you endure pain while I strove for ecstasy. Something was not right about it."

"Did you not-" She pieced together what had happened. "How am I supposed to become pregnant if you do not finish?"

"Sansa, please, trust me in this. I want to give you some sort of happiness in your gilded cage. Come with me, lie on the bed."

"What are you going to do with me?" Sansa looked down at him cautiously.

"Fucking is something that can be either a pleasant time or torture. I want to at least show you that you have nothing to fear in my hands. And I cannot do that when you are rigid and quiet, you are barely even wet enough to-" He stopped as she looked away, ashamed of the details. "You are not to be blamed, I would feel the same."

Sansa looked back at him. "Why are you so kind to me?"

"Because you have been wronged since the day you came here. By Joffrey and by my father." Tyrion responded. Sansa smiled at him sadly. "Now can you return so I can at least give you a little...comfort. You are as brave as the Lions of Lannister."

"I am a Wolf," She corrected him absentmindedly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes, you are." Tyrion looked up at her, a smile pushing at the corner of his mouth. Sansa looked down at him warily, but obeyed. She returned to the bed. She watched Tyrion as he paused and let out a breath, but he turned and approached her.

"Lay back, Sansa," Tyrion said. Sansa did as she was told. "Ever the obedient little dove." He chuckled. "Just when I thought I was seeing a wolf return."

Sansa glared up at him. "I-"

"You are doing what you must to survive." Tyrion interrupted her. She looked at him with surprise. "Sansa Stark you have done nothing but survive the brutal atrocities served to you at King's Landing."

"I have not lived since I have come to this castle." Sansa's voice was filled with tears. Tyrion sighed.

"Then let me help you," he made his way into the bed next to her. His skin was glowing in the fire light, his stern jaw cast shadows over his bare chest. She turned her head to look at him, studied the scar that made its way from his eyebrow and across his cheek. Her heart was pounding with what he was going to do.

He leaned forward and kissed her. She tensed, her mouth remaining tightlipped as he pressed harder. He pulled away fiercely with a groan.

"Sansa, close your eyes and pretend I am your golden knight. I know fewer tricks than I like when my cock is not doing the job," he said. "But you have too many horrible memories of a man's touch."

Sansa took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Tyrion kissed her again. This time he bit her lip. _The beautiful knight has carried me away._ She tried to think. But it was too much like Tyrion. _Just do what he says. But...try to pretend he is your knight_. She commanded herself. She forced herself to kiss him back. He pressed harder with his lips, grabbing hold of her bottom lip between her teeth and pulling it away again. Something was changing in Sansa's body as he kissed her more fiercely, her mind was slowly forgetting who was doing the touching and focused more on the sensation as she kept her eyes shut tightly Sansa felt a flood of serenity sweep over her. She kissed him back, full mouthed this time. His tongue made his way into her mouth.

Her body was betraying her mind. This was Tyrion Lannister she was kissing, but it felt wonderful. She kissed him with her own open mouth; his mouth tasted like wine. It was intoxicating and bitterly sweet. She groaned slightly, as she felt his hand come and envelope her breast. He gave it a squeeze. Gentle at first, then roughly. Sansa sighed at the touch. His thumb ran over one of her nipples which stood at attention in the chill air of the room. The digit was rougher than she expected for a man who did little labor with his hands. The grittiness felt right on the delicate bud of her breast. Better than it should have. She shivered slightly as his hand kneaded her breast again.

His mouth left hers, trailing wet kisses down her neck. She let out a small gasp as her body flooded with energy. His mouth was unnervingly welcome on the smooth skin as he kissed the joining of her shoulder and her neck. The neck he had called long he scaled with ease. His kisses were becoming looser as he kissed her shoulder; she jumped as she felt his teeth gently tease the skin. Her body was lighting up with explosions and she could feel an uncontrollable wetness increase between her legs. At first she grew scared that she had started her monthly blood spell, but she had just recovered from the time. She tried to sit up to be sure that she was not bleeding all over the bedspread. Tyrion pushed her back down against the pillows as his mouth continued down over her chest and came to her breasts. His strength surprised her as she did not expect that such a little man would be able to push her back.

Her thoughts were erased as his mouth placed down on her breast and sucked. She let out a breathy gasp. Opening her eyes she could see that he was further down her body, away from the pillows. He looked up at her, she could see him faintly in the dim lighting of the awakened fire. She was certain if his face was lit up he would have a glimmer in his eye.

"I see my dear lady enjoys when her tits get attention." He said. He then returned his mouth to her round breast. Sansa lay back and closed her eyes as her mind grew numb to the sensations.

She let out another small gasp and then a whimper as he sucked sharply on her breast. To her dismay, he pulled away and began to trail kisses down her stomach. She could feel his hand caress one of her thighs, tickling the inside of her leg as he gently parted them once again.

 _He's going to try again. Oh, Mother, give me mercy this time. Make it less painful_. She prayed, her eyebrows creasing as she pressed her eyes closed. She braced herself for him to enter her again.

But he did not; his hand instead reached between her thighs, sneaking where her thighs joined. "Relax," he murmured. Sansa tried.

It was hard to rest her muscles until suddenly his hand began to explore her crevice. His fingers swept past her entrance and up toward the top of her sex. He moved his thumb and she jumped as her body screamed in pleasure. Her mouth opened once more in a whimper. _Where ever his hand has ventured feels unspeakable- wonderful. How could a woman's body be so capable of...delight? I am...enjoying his touch_. She began to realize.

He leaned forward to kiss the curve of her hip as he moved his hand between her legs. Sansa felt a building tension in her belly. It was frightening as it became more and more intense. His hand pulled away for a moment and Sansa's body screamed for more. _You are a traitor, my body_. She thought as she brought her hands over her face. His mouth was still kissing her hips, trailing upwards back toward her breasts. His hand came back to that sensitive area he had been awakening and Sansa kept her body from writhing at the sensation.

Sansa was not sure if she was going to make it any further as the burning in her belly intensified. Suddenly, she felt her body convulsing, she brought her legs up as her mind was flooded with unspeakable pleasure. Tyrion kissed her breast again, moving back upwards toward her neck.

"Did you enjoy that, my lady?" He mused. Sansa's chest was heaving from the encounter. She looked down at him, his silhouette at her shoulder now. Sansa's throat was thick and she could not find it in herself to answer.

"I did make you a promise," Tyrion kissed the line of her jar lightly. Sansa lay her head back and her eyes fluttered closed again."And as it is said: a Lannister always pays his debts."

Sansa's body was still on fire as he kissed her on the cheek again. Sansa turned her head impulsively and kissed his mouth, open and wet. She could feel Tyrion smile in the kiss as his lips became smaller to grasp.

"Pay them," she managed to whisper.

Tyrion returned once again between her thighs, he bent over her belly, placing his hands at the curve of her hips. He then filled her once again. Sansa hissed as her body still did not accommodate his manhood, but it was much less painful this time around. He slid much more easily in and out, Sansa finding the motion more enjoyable in comparison to when he took her maidenhead. She lay her head back as he moved more quickly. Her body was singing as he moved against her, the sensation in her belly returning. She let out a small groan as his body pressed against the curve of her pelvis, the light skin atop her hairy mound. Tyrion's thrusts became deeper and came more quickly, until he was pressing against her and let out a cry himself. She could hear him gasping for breath as he collapsed on the bed next to her hip. She could feel a strange heaviness between her legs, a small trickle of wetness out of her.

"It is done." He spoke to her after a few moments of his ragged breathing.

Her body was still screaming to be touched. She did not wish to say anything to him, however, as he had done what needed to be. She sat up, shivering in the cool air as her warm body was kissed by a breeze.

Tyrion rolled off the bed and made his way across the room. She looked away, drawing her knees up to her bare chest to shield her bare body from his eyesight once again, though her body was electrified by his touch and greedily wanted more. She placed her chin on their caps and pulled her legs close. Her body was slowly resolving and she felt herself grow more sleepy. She lay back once again on the bed.

Tyrion startled her as he came to her side. He had pulled on the small clothes he had shed earlier and had her bed robe in his hands. "To keep out the chill."

He climbed onto the bed next to her, as she sat to take hold of the robe. He held it open for her to slip her arms into, pushing it around to the front of her body and tying it around her waist. His arms remained there for a moment, his cheek pressed to the bend in her back.

"My lord," she turned.

"Please, Sansa. We have lain together, I insist you call me Tyrion," He let go of her and she turned to look at him in the shadows.

"Tyrion," she tried once again. "I am very tired. If you do not mind, I would like to rest for the night."

"Of course," Tyrion moved away from her. "Oh course." He slipped off the bed and went to the chaise where he normally stayed until she had slipped off to a dreamless sleep for the evening.

"Thank you, Tyrion." She called after him. He paused and turned to look at her. He bowed his head and she saw a smile cross his lips.

"Good night, Sansa," he said. "Sleep well."

"I wish you the same." she echoed, laying back in the sheets. She heard Tyrion's bare feet pad across the floors before she slipped into sleep.


	4. Thawing

Sansa had woken with an uncomfortable ache between her legs and nearly forgot what had occurred the night before. She had been awoken by Shae who had come to wake her for her breaking of fast with the soon to be queen, on Margaery's own request. Sansa had dressed quickly and was escorted with Shae to Margaery's dwelling quarters. The girl was up and alert, walking about her room as she pulled back her hair and tidied her dress. She welcomed Sansa into her quarters, escorting her to a chair at her table. and went about the other side to sit in front of her.

"How are you this morning, my lady?" Margaery asked with a smile across her round face. Sansa nodded her head, but it took a moment before she was able to have power of speech.

"I am well, Your Grace." She nodded her head, holding her hands in her lap.

"I trust you slept well," Margaery inquired with a twinkle in her eye.

"Yes, very well." Sansa affirmed.

"Ladies, please will you leave Sansa and I alone to break our fast? I am certain we can manage serving ourselves. I will call for you when I am in need of your assistance. Please, go to the kitchens and take a few moments of peace to break your owns fasts." She instructed kindly. Margaery smiled brightly at the women which surrounded the two girls.

Shae shot Sansa a look, causing Sansa to avert her eyes. She did not want Shae around for this destined to be humiliating conversation between her and Margaery; it was a private matter which needed less ears, even if she trusted those ears.

As soon as the handmaids were out of earshot, Margaery leaned forward as she slid a small portiong of bacon between her teeth. She took a moment to swallow before addressing Sansa, leaving the younger girl to her thoughts. "So, did you do it?"

Sansa did not answer. She watched as Margaery's brown eyes washed over her face, she smiled even when she chewed. _It is such a shame that such a ray of light will be extinguished by a bushel._

"Sansa? Are you all right?" Margaery prodded once again.

"Yes, I am sorry, your grace." Sansa sat upright.

"Please, it is Margaery, sweet girl." The soon to be queen responded. She took a healthy bite of an apple which she had taken to cradling in her hand. "What events have happened?"

"We..." Sansa breathed. "We...we did come together." she managed to say.

"How was it?" Margaery leaned forward, her eyes wide as she inquired for more details. Sansa was reminded of when she and Jeyne used to whisper about the knights who came through Winterfell. The ones who were attractive, the ones who would make good husbands some day.

"It was well." Sansa replied.

"Did you- enjoy it?" She asked.

"It was pleasant," Sansa said, her voice soft and small.

"I am glad for you, my sweet girl." Margaery smiled and lay back in her chair, taking another bite of an apple. "So did he-"

"Yes," Sansa replied hastily. "Is there anything else we can speak about other than this topic?"

"Sansa Stark is scared of talking about a good fucking." Margaery teased.

"Margaery!" Sansa's mouth dropped open. "And I am Sansa Lannister, especially now."

"Did you do as you intended?"

"By hiding it, you mean?" Sansa said.

"Yes, sweet girl." Margaery's light laugh followed.

"I did." Sansa nodded her head. "He showed me mercy."

"What a kind husband you have," Margaery wrinkled her nose. "But I can sense that there are many other secrets you are hiding, Sansa."

Sansa's stomach twisted in knots as she heard this. Margaery's grin widened as she watched Sansa. "Don't worry, sweet girl, I will not ask what has come about."

"Thank you," Sansa sighed.

"I do wish to know someday," Margaery took another bite of her red apple.

"And I am hoping someday you will know what I am hiding." Sansa promised as she took a small piece of bread from the center of the table and ate it. She was suddenly finding her hunger coming back.

* * *

Tyrion awoke from the chaise. A crick in his neck had developed over the course of the night from the awkward position he had slept in. He sat up with a groan and rubbed the back of his neck. He had experienced the most wonderful dream the night before, though perhaps it was a bit too perverted for even he.

 _I need to place Bronn back in his position as sellsword and less as confidant_. He jumped down from the chaise and tried to stretch the knot in his neck with little success. A glance at the bed assured him that Sansa was not here for the morning. Most likely she had made her way out to the sept to say her prayers to the Seven. _The woman has more faith than me, and yet she continues to go through such terrors_.

Podrick must have come in that morning and left some food on the table. Tyrion took a biscuit in hand and tore it with his teeth. He then poured himself his first glass of wine for the day, taking a drink to chase the food down. The door opening again startled him.

He turned and watched Sansa enter with Shae on her heels. His wife was already dressed for the day in a red and gold patterned dress which flattered her soft red hair. Such a beautiful young woman cursed with such an ill formed mate.

"Good morning, Sansa," He greeted her with a smile. Sansa looked over at him, but instead of her usually straight face she wore a faint smile on her lips. It was barely there, just small dimples near the corner of her lips, but her eyes were not their usual dead blue color. They were more alert, more aware. Shae, however, glared at him with her dark eyes as she stood by Sansa's side.

"I am in no more need for assistance this morning, Shae." Sansa spoke up. "Come and fetch me for the afternoon meal. I am planning to spend the morning practicing my needlework."

"Yes, m'lady." Shae said. She shot Tyrion a poisoned look before turning and leaving, the door shutting loudly behind her.

"Good morning, Tyrion." Sansa greeted him. He looked at her with a cocked head.

"Did what I think happened last night, happen?" He held his cup between his hands.

"We did, my l- Tyrion." She affirmed.

"Is that why you are greeting me with a smile today?" Tyrion mused. Sansa looked down at him as she passed. She placed herself in the seat in front of her vanity, taking the brush in hand.

"You could have your handmaiden do that for you." Tyrion watched her. She let down her hair and began to brush it all the same.

"I do not want any more prying eyes." Sansa said. Tyrion smiled at her.

"You are becoming a wise woman, my lady." He said.

"I have learned that no one can be trusted." Sansa looked at him through the help of the mirror. Tyrion had to look down. _Of course she would be wary of the people she had come to trust, since her mother and brother were promised shelter and were slaughtered like animals instead._

"Except I must trust you, Tyrion." She turned in her chair to look at him. He looked up into her blue eyes. "You are holding a precious secret of which I wish no one to know."

"Of course, my odd wife," He took a sip of wine. "But tell me one of your secrets, my dear Sansa."

"What is it, my lord? I do not promise I will give an answer." She turned back to the looking glass.

"Were you pleased as you could be, given the circumstances?" Tyrion knew she had enjoyed at least some of his time with her, given the gasps and whimpers she was unable to hold back.

Sansa turned to look at him once again. "It was pleasant, my lord. But do not let it go to your already too big head."

"It seems my wife has found her bold tongue." Tyrion could not help but be internally glad that she was starting to peek back out into the light. "Perhaps another tryst will make her prone to laughter?"

"Another time in the bed will only be served for its intended purpose." Sansa stood from her chair, placing the brush on her vanity. Her brilliant auburn hair cascading down over her shoulders, highlighted the curves of her breast.

 _Her breasts were beautiful_ , Tyrion mused as he looked over her. _Soft and untouched. And the way she writhed under my touch- it is so much easier to please her than all the whores in Westeros. A virgin is a curious thing_.

Sansa watched him with a frown on her face. She brushed her hair over her shoulder as she walked across the room to sit at the table, leaning back in the chair. "Do you understand?"

"I understand," Tyrion groaned. "You are a tease for such a high born lady."

"And you are a too much a pervert for a lord," Sansa's eyebrow rose as she met his eyes, a small smile pushed at the corners of her mouth this time. Tyrion laughed at her.

"You are too right, my lady," he said. He took the chair across from Sansa, the wine cup still held fast in his hand. "You were out for an early stroll this morning," He attempted to make light conversation, seeing his wife was in one of her more cheerful moods. Tyrion looked across to Sansa and was pleased to see that her kind blue eyes watched him instead of looking away.

"Lady Margaery asked for my presence at her breaking of fast," Sansa replied. "Which you would have known had you been up for the time of breaking of fast."

"I was so tired after such an expenditure of...energy, last night." Tyrion smiled over the rim of his cup, then took another sip. Sansa looked away, shifting from one hip to the other in her chair. She took a deep breath and looked back to him. "Sansa Stark is ashamed by the mention of lust," he teased.

"I am not, my lord," Sansa said, though her cheeks were red at their high points. _Cheeks like the Tully's._

"Your flushing cheeks give you away," Tyrion whispered across to her. She blushed even harder and looked away.

"I am not used to such vulgar conversation," she attempted to rebuttal him.

"Welcome to married life with the demon monkey," he outspread his arms in mock welcome. "I cannot promise that it will be an easy life, but you will enjoy your nights."

"You shouldn't call yourself such," Sansa said.

"Everyone else does," he took a sip of wine. "I know you have thought such words."

"I cannot lie," Sansa placed her hand on the table. "However, I have learned better as I bear my own label now."

"Disgraced daughter and demon monkey," Tyrion mused. "You should find pride in the name, pride in your faults, because if you continue to deny the name the laughter in the courts will only be salt in your wounds." Sansa's blue eyes dimmed with pain. "Take some advice from your halfman husband."

"They may mock you," Sansa lifted her hand from the table to run it through her soft hair. "But you have been the only one to show me kindness. You do not rub salt into my current wounds."

"I have more of a penchant for mercy than the rest of my family." Tyrion said.

"You have shown more honor to your house name than your sweet sister and your kingslayer brother."

"Do I detect a hint of flattery from a Stark girl?" Tyrion enjoyed teasing her, especially since she was beginning to fight back with clever banter. "I should write this down in the calendars of the day a Stark complimented a Lannister. Peace may come to us yet."

"I am a Lannister as well," Sansa responded, dropping her eyes to her lap again. _She cannot look one in the eye when she lies. Such a wonderful mummer on such a pathetic stage_.

"That is nothing but horseshit," Tyrion laughed as he placed his wine cup on the table. "You are a Lannister by name. I am not as stupid as many think me to be, my wife, and you have the North in your veins. It is a wonder you did not freeze my cock off last night."

"And you are as vulgar as the South is shallow," Sansa looked back at him.

"A statement which I cannot argue," Tyrion raised his eyebrow at her. "You were avoiding a question, my dear Sansa. How was your morning with her soon to be grace?"

"It was pleasant. Margaery is a very kind woman-"

"An absolute rose, I have heard," Tyrion smiled at his own joke. Sansa rolled her eyes. "You do not find my jape funny?"

"It is taking all my energy to keep from bursting apart at the insides," Sansa replied, though her voice was dry and hinted otherwise. Tyrion sighed and grabbed his wine cup in hand again.

"One day I will have you laughing," Tyrion threatened. Sansa leaned forward in her chair, resting her arms on the table before her.

"I do not laugh at crude jokes and I do not find making japes at the few people who treat me kindly to be very funny. Forgive me, my lord, if I wish not to be merry." Sansa said. Tyrion hung his head for a moment.

"Of course, my joke at the expensive of Lady Tyrell was in poor taste. I am hoping that you are able to forgive me," Tyrion answered sincerely. He was trying to make her happy, trying to make her smile. She was an absolutely beautiful, innocent girl given to such tragedy.

"I will forgive," Sansa agreed. "But the North does not forget." She stood from her chair to make her way back to the window. Tyrion sighed, leaning back in his own chair now.

"Words I've heard far too often," he muttered into his cup.

A knock came presently at the door and Tyrion groaned. "Yes?"

The door opened and Podrick appeared from behind the heavy wood. Tyrion smiled at the young squire, extending his hand to the chair next to him. "Podrick, my dear friend, come and sit. Enjoy a glass of wine."

Podrick entered skittishly ( _he is so nervous around the lovely Sansa. She and her womanly charms_ , he thought, amused) and came toward the table. "M'lord, I...I have come with a message to Lady Lannister today."

"Since when has Podrick become your handmaiden?" he turned to look over at Sansa. She appeared just as surprised. She turned outwards, her right hand on her chest.

"For me?" She asked. Podrick nodded his head. "Where did it come from?"

"From Lord Baelish," Podrick handed forth an envelope. Tyrion looked to Sansa and saw that she turned pale as she took the yellowed paper from Podrick's hand. She was not quick to open it, her eyes glancing toward Tyrion's direction.

"Isn't Petyr Baelish a bit old for you?" Tyrion asked with a smile. "Tell Littlefinger the next time he wishes to send my wife a message, he should at least have the decency to visit."

"If you will recall, dear husband," Sansa's voice was tight and harsh. "Lord Baelish has returned to the Vale. Thank you, Podrick," she tipped her head at the squire. "That will be all."

"I...I..." Podrick stammered as he looked at Sansa.

"Pod, do not let my wife's beauty intimidate you," Tyrion spoke up.

"What is it?" Sansa asked with impatience.

"I just wanted to say, m'lady, that I...I am sorry." Podrick turned suddenly and made his way toward the door. Sansa paused for a moment and then called after the squire.

"Thank you, Podrick. Your sympathies are appreciated."

The squire nodded awkwardly and looked now to Tyrion. "Is there anything I can do for m'lord."

"Not for the time being," Tyrion waved him away. "Perhaps come in an hour with some afternoon meal."

"Of course, m'lord." Podrick bowed and made his way out of the room.

Tyrion turned to look at Sansa who was perched on her vanity chair with the now opened letter in her hand. She read the words quickly, her light eyes darting over the page. Tyrion cleared his throat to get her attention, but it proved futile.

"My dear wolf, what does Littlefinger require of you?" He spoke up. Sansa looked up towards him, her cheeks still quite pale.

"He just wishes to send his apologies. He..he has requested me to meet one of his men in the garden with whom he sent a small token of his sympathies." She struggled for words. Her blue eyes returning to the page.

"Sansa-" Tyrion sat up in the chair. Her eyes returned to his face. _A poor, naive, desperate little creature._

"My lord," she said. Tyrion got up from his chair and came to stand in front of her. She was nearer eye level now, so he reached out to touch her hand again. Gently, so she knew he was not reaching forward to harm her.

"I just-I wish you to be careful in your communications with Littlefinger." Tyrion ran his thumb over the back of her hand. She looked down at the gesture and then back at him.

"Is this an order not to speak with him?" Sansa asked.

"No, because you are smart enough to find a way," Tyrion commented. "I am just asking you to be wary."

"Lord Baelish was one of my mother's closest friends. I can lend him just a little of my trust." Sansa stood from her chair with haste. "I can trust him more than I can trust you and I have lent you some secrets."

"Sansa, be careful with your confidence. You know that the Spider has his little birds everywhere around this castle." Tyrion looked up at her. Sansa let out a guttural sound of disgust, making her way quickly across the room.

"Sansa-"

"I am to go to the gardens to accept Lord Baelish's gift to me, if my lord allows it." Sansa's gaze was sharp and he could see the anger dance in them. Tyrion sighed.

"You are not my prisoner and I am not to command you," Tyrion said. "I mean, I choose not to command you. I am only passing on some words of wisdom."

"Thank you, my lord." Though her words suggested anything but gratitude. She made her way out of the room and Tyrion shook his head. _Just when I thought I had melted some of the ice from her blood she reminds me that she is a woman of the North and nothing will thaw her._


	5. Threat

Shae's curved hip was gentle and smooth. He relished the supple skin as he rested his head on her stomach, her skin pressing against his neck and shoulders. She was heaving in exertion still, he had recovered his breath. _Perhaps she is overacting a little too much_. Tyrion mused.

"What is on your mind, my lion," Shae's hand extended over his chest, her fingers dancing on the tender skin atop his belly. Tyrion sighed.

"The struggles of living with a newly blossomed wife." Tyrion muttered. Shae sat up and he slid down onto her bare lap. Her breasts were now above him, teasing him once more, and he longed to caress them again- but Shae was clearly upset.

"You were the one who put yourself in such a position." She was still bitter. But Tyrion could not explain to her that he could not run off and marry a whore. He was a dwarf, forever unable to blend into society. What was more is that he knew no craft of a lower born citizen. His talents were reading and regurgitating what was read. He would stick out and he would not be able to support the both of them. _Damn being high born and low stature_. Tyrion cursed his birth inwardly.

"I will not speak to you on such matters because you are unwilling to listen." Tyrion said. "I am saving that girl. You know if she was without protection Joffrey's bloodlust would spill her blood on the steps of the castle. The rest of her family has been slaughtered."

"Aww look at the brave little man protecting the little girl from a teenage boy," Shae mocked him. Tyrion groaned as his head hit against the bed, she had slipped out from underneath him and was dressing.

"Shae-"

"I will protect this little girl with my knife, a thing that can actually kill a man." Shae growled. Tyrion did his best to keep from rolling his eyes.

"Shae, I already told you we do not need to speak-" Tyrion tried to interject.

"Yes, patronize me. Say 'Oh Shae, you are a stupid whore and do not understand what it means to be a highborn lord who has all this protection because he has a big fancy last name'." She was fuming as she tied her dress tightly around her body. Tyrion shook his head.

"Shae, you think I do not want to be with you? I cannot help where the gods have placed us."

"Fuck the gods," Shae yelled.

"Would you hush!" Tyrion urgently lunged at her.

"Why? Because if someone finds us you will be in trouble? Can you not use your big fancy name? Tell them you will kill them because you are such and such a person? Or is it because you do not want your little baby wife to know that you are fucking someone else?" She turned on him.

"Shae, I am sorry that I married another girl. As you must bear witness, she does not want to be in this union anymore than I wish to be. She was left with the monster," He said. Shae let out a groan of disgust. "Shae, I am trying to protect you. I am dangerous to interact with and as dangerous as I am to other people."

"Why did you marry her?" Shae looked at him with her large brown eyes. Tyrion was silent for a moment. "You could have done something-"

"I could not have denied my lord father. What's more, I wanted to give her some semblance of a safe place. The girl would have been beaten and starved and the gods know what else _because of her name_. She did nothing wrong. She was a wide eyed, dream filled youth. She did not ask for her life to be torn apart."

"And so you thought you could be the knight in shining armor that she was always yearning for?" Shae looked down at him.

"I wanted to give that girl some protection-"

"You are not her knight in shining armor," Shae stalked toward the door.

"Shae-" Tyrion called after her. The woman stopped at the door before turning to him with hate in her eyes.

"You were supposed to be mine."

She opened the door and closed it loudly behind her. Tyrion let out a sigh and crumpled back onto the bed with a deflated groan. _The gods bless Sansa, she has married me_.

* * *

The sun was shining brightly as Sansa made her way through the gardens. She had left Shae behind for her meeting; surely Lord Baelish had sent this messenger with news other than his condolences. A gift was not enough to save her from her sorrow. _Why must my fate always be in the hands of men?_

She was greeted by Ser Dontos who came to her side, wrapping his arm about her elbow.

"M'lady." He greeted her. Sansa turned to look at the older knight.

"Are you here for Lord Petyr?" She asked.

"I have come to pass on what he has planned for you, my dear." Ser Dontos kept his gaze straight. "He is planning on sending a vessel to take you to the Vale on the night of Joffrey's wedding."

Sansa inhaled sharply. "That is in four weeks time."

"You had promised Lord Baelish that you would be able to leave at any moment, did you not?" Ser Dontos asked.

"Of course, I will be ready to go. But how will I know when to meet you."

"You will know, Lord Baelish promises. You will have to excuse yourself from the wedding."

"But I will be sitting near Joffrey's head table, since I am married to his uncle." Sansa remarked. "How will I be able to sneak away with no one noticing? That will be impossible."

"Lord Baelish said you would doubt him so. He promises that some...events might occur which could make it possible." Ser Dontos said. Sansa had placed her free arm on the arm Ser Dontos escorted her with. He placed his hand gently on her fingers. "Have faith, my dear. We will not let the key to the North slip idly through our fingers."

"No, I certainly do believe Lord Petyr's promises. And I am most thankful for his aid in helping me get away from here, but I do have some questions-"

"Naturally. And just as you question the gods and command no answers you should do the same for Lord Petyr."

"Does he think of himself as a god?" Sansa asked with a laugh.

"No, he is too humble to think of that. But he has even extended his hand so graciously to me. I make the comparison in good faith." Ser Dontos stopped and turned to her.

"I shall have to trust your good faith," Sansa reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it gently between her fingers. "I thank you, Ser Dontos, for being the connection between Lord Petyr and I."

"It is my pleasure, my lady." He bowed forward, but tipped too far and struggled for balance.

"Is there another time when I should try to contact you, in case Lord Petyr has more instructions?" She asked. Ser Dontos nodded his head.

"Meet me near the godswood next week at this time." He instructed. "Lord Petyr will have more information for me to give to you."

"Of course," Sansa nodded her head.

"And I was instructed to give you this," He held out a small box to her. She took it in her hands and opened it to behold a gold ring with a bright red ruby shimmering on the band. Sansa smiled at the gift. "Lord Petyr said that red always complimented your mother and her beautiful reddish locks; he believes red is also a color which could do you well."

"Tell Lord Petyr that his gift is very appreciated." Sansa bit her lip as the mention of her mother hit her in the gut like a swift kick. "And thank him for his sympathies."

"Certainly, my lady." He bowed. "I must be on my way. But do not forget. Next week at the godswood."

"Do not worry, my dear Ser, I will be there." She promised. Ser Dontos looked past her, his eyes widening a bit and then bowed to her quickly.

"My apologies, my lady, in regards to your family." He turned quickly and made his way back through the gardens.

Sansa turned to see Cersei taking quick steps toward her. Sansa looked around for a way to slip off, but it was clear that Cersei saw her and meant to come and speak with her. Sansa steeled herself for the unpleasant encounter.

"My little dove," Cersei wore her forced smile, her blue eyes filled with nothing but hatred. "Did you enjoy the little present I sent you?"

"Your Grace," Sansa carefully curtsied. "It was a beautiful dress, too beautiful for me to possibly wear."

Cersei quietly laughed, reaching out to tuck one of Sansa's strands behind her ear. "Well, my bird, you are humble as always. I can arrange for another dress to be made, but it will cost and the time it will take..."

"I will wear it proudly, Your Grace." Sansa replied quickly.

"I am trying to show you kindness, Sansa, since you are freed from your traitor family. Maybe the court will look past their sins to see you are loyal." Cersei's head tipped to the left as she looked at Sansa. Sansa knew that gaze; Cersei was waiting for her to say something wrong. She wanted Sansa's head, now that she was the last Stark. "You are loyal, are you not?"

"I am proud to wear the Lannister lion, shedding my traitor's sigil," Sansa looked down at her hands, they trembled as she clenched them together before her belly. Cersei let out her musical giggle once more.

"Of course you are, my little Sansa. You are a clever girl." Cersei proceeded forward, Sansa followed in obligation. "Sometimes I think it is a shame that you are not the bride to stand before the septon in a month's time."

Sansa hung her head as she walked in step with the queen . _Of course she wants me to marry Joffrey, she knows that I would be dead by his hands in a year's time. My traitor blood would sour him somehow, no matter how many orders I obeyed_.

"Yes, Your Grace," Sansa nodded her head, her hands locked tightly together.

"My brother must enjoy your cleverness," Cersei continued in conversation while Sansa prayed to gods that she would tire of her.

"I am sure he does, Your Grace,"

"When he isn't spending his time as a drunk nuisance, I pity you, my little dove," Cersei apologized in a voice which suggested the complete opposite. Sansa was sure if she looked at the Queen Regent that she could see the corners of her mouth fighting to remain straight.

"I thank you for your pity, Your Grace." Sansa could feel the drone in her throat, her thanks and apologies spoken again and again. _I am still the little bird singing their songs_.

She had followed Cersei from the gardens back into the castle. The older woman was intent on keeping Sansa in her grasp. "Tell me, my lady, what news did Ser Dontos bring to you."

Sansa's cheeks reddened as she met Cersei's eyes. "I...I...he happened to bring a message from Lord Baelish...who...who assured me that I was lucky to have shed my birth name, because my family were-"

"I seem to recall that Petyr Baelish had a bit of a liking for your mother when he was a boy," Cersei mused as she looked over at Sansa. "Or so the ancient rumors say.'

"Yes, Your Grace." Sansa replied.

"I just wanted to be assured of your safety, since you must give great care to whom you trust. You are, after all, the remaining Stark," Cersei leaned toward Sansa, her blonde curls slipping over her shoulder. "It would be so easy for an _accident_ to happen. I would not want to see you strangled in your sleep or poisoned by your wine." Sansa could feel Cersei's smile as she stared at the ground.

"Well how wonderful to fall upon my sister and my wife chatting like young girls," Tyrion's voice came further up the halls. Sansa looked up and watched him make his way toward her and Cersei, his sell sword, _Bronn_?, following behind.

"Little brother," Cersei's voice lost its music as she spoke through barely parted teeth. "What a...pleasure."

"I am sure you are reserving your enthusiasm so as not to startle my wife." Tyrion laughed as he stood before the two. Sansa slowed her exhale so Cersei would not hear the sigh which escaped from her lips. Tyrion was not much of a knight, but she was glad for his saving presence in the moment.

"Your little wife was telling me about how lovely the dress I sent her last night looked on her. She is excited to wear it for the wedding, and of course, she is beyond joyful for Joffrey and Margaery's fortunes."

"Yes, I am sure she is." Tyrion spoke slowly, looking up at Sansa under his prominent brow. Sansa bit her lip as she looked back at him, her eyes fluttering back to the ground. "Well, I hate to break off such an enlightening conversation, but I have been looking for my beautiful wife all about King's Landing."

"You should ask Ser Dontos where she has been," Cersei smiled wickedly at Sansa as the girl looked over at her blue eyes. Sansa blanched at the suggestion. She looked over at Tyrion quickly, catching his own eyes flash to look at her. But only for a moment.

"I sent her to Ser Dontos myself; she received word from Poderick this morning that Lord Baelish had sent our lovely Sansa a wedding present, with great apologies for not making our ceremony." Tyrion spoke quickly. Sansa kept her eyes on Cersei, holding her breath as Tyrion weaved the half truth.

"I did not mean to pry on you and your wife's business," Cersei looked down at her brother with steel eyes. "I just wanted to make sure no harm would come to the little dove."

"I am alright, I assure you, Your Grace." Sansa found the courage to speak up. "I am very thankful for your concerns."

"And I thank you as well, sister," Tyrion's voice mocked Cersei. "Now I must be on my way with my lady so I may keep a diligent eye on her wellbeing."

Sansa tensed as Cersei's hand enclosed her upper arm, squeezing it gently, but her nails dug into the woman's skin. Sansa forced herself not to wince. "Until another day, my little dove."

"Yes, Your Grace." Sansa nodded her head. Cersei looked down at her little brother, her mouth tight and her eyes burning with anger. She then walked past the dwarf, her long skirts billowing out behind her.

"I hope my sister did not maul you too badly," Tyrion said. Sansa let out a louder sigh, her hands resting on the billows of her skirt.

"It was a pleasant meeting, seeing Her Grace." Sansa replied. Tyrion groaned and shook his head.

"Please, Sansa, there is no need to lie to me." Tyrion extended his bent arm up to her, indicating that she could take it if she desired.

Normally Sansa would have turned to walk, allowing him to catch up. Today, however, she felt safer having someone who meant her no eminent harm close to her side. She stepped forward and laced her arm around his wrist. She glanced down through the corner of her eye and noticed that Tyrion looked back at his sell sword with eyebrows raised in surprise.

"You know my sell sword and dear friend, Bronn?" Tyrion formally introduced the two. Sansa looked back at him with a faint, friendly smile.

"I did not think sell swords were meant to be companions, my l-Tyrion." Sansa said.

"Only a fool considers a sell sword his friend," The man's deep voice from behind startled her.

"Well in some circles, 'fool' and 'Imp' go hand in hand," Tyrion replied. "No need to jump, Sansa, Bronn has more bark than bite when speaking with my friends."

"I didn't mean to startle m'lady," Bronn let out a raspy laugh. "I promise my sword won't go anywheres near you."

Sansa shifted uncomfortably away from the sell sword as his words had more meaning than one, no doubt.

"Bronn, I pay you to slaughter my enemies, not shame my wife." Tyrion scolded gently.

"You're lucky you can still afford me," Bronn replied. "Isn't your kingdom's treasury going to shit?"

"That is where the friend part comes into play where you do things out of whatever small hint of goodness lies within your blackened heart," Tyrion was quick witted; Sansa could not deny that she found some amusement in the exchange between the two. "Does my lady smile? By the gods, there is hope." Tyrion teased her, causing Sansa's grin to widen and her lips to part, revealing a small smile.

"I just think you and your sell sword-"

"Bronn, m'lady," Bronn leaned forward close enough where she could smell his wine saturated breath.

"Bronn," Sansa corrected herself. "Have a very sharp wits, you both make for pleasant entertainment."

"Bronn, if we ever end up being taken by Stannis, we can preserve our lives by suggesting to become his court jesters."

"I can't say I'll be flying the Lannister colors if Stannis comes about," Bronn replied.

"Oh the loyalty of sell swords." Tyrion rolled his eyes. "Why don't you go find someone else to annoy?"

"I don't need you at the end of the day anyway, m'lord." Sansa watched Bronn bow to her husband mockingly.

"And at the end of the day, I still have the prettiest woman." Tyrion retorted as the sell sword turned to leave the pair.

She and Tyrion walked arm in wrist back to their quarters in silence, but Sansa noticed that the smile which tugged at the corners of her mouth had not yet ceased its pulling.


	6. Thankfulness

"What did Bronn mean earlier?" Sansa asked from the windowsill where she had curled up for the afternoon, this time taking a needle, thread, and cloth with her to distract her from the memories which flooded her in the quiet.

She and Tyrion had returned to their room only to have silence continue between the two. The two shared a nearly silent midday meal as Podrick and Shae watched on. Conversation had been just as lively between the two during their supper. After the table was cleared and both the squire and the handmaiden dismissed, the two went in search of activities to dull the silent air. Tyrion went to reading a book he had selected from one of his many piles. Sansa, not knowing entirely what to do with herself in his presence, returned to a hobby she had once found comforting: needlework.

Tyrion looked up from his book, he sat across the way in a chair. "What do you mean?"

"About the kingdom's money." Sansa looked up from the taut cloth, her hand pulling the thread upwards, the needle clasped between her forefinger and thumb.

"Bronn should not be so foolish as to speak about things he does not fully understand." He said. Tyrion placed the book on the chest in front of his chair where had had propped his feet, which were soon replaced on the wood as Tyrion reclined against the back of the chair.

"So does that mean there are whispers about the kingdom's treasury?" Sansa asked, her hands falling to her lap as she directed her attention to Tyrion.

"There are always whispers of everything." Tyrion replied. Sansa let out an exasperated groan, to which Tyrion could only chuckle. "Why are you so interested, my dear wolf, in how much we lions hoard? Isn't this a boring topic for such a refined lady as yourself?"

"Do not mock me," Sansa's voice was hard. She did not need another person labeling her interests, patronizing her. _But you would not have cared about coin, once upon a time. Not when you thought that your darling prince was going to take your under his wing and rain on your all your delights_. Sansa hung her head in shame as she scolded herself.

"The money is running dry," Tyrion responded. "And this extravagant wedding which my dear sister is holding for my nephew- well, that will be near scraping the bottom of the barrel, if not wiping it clean." He smiled to himself before speaking again. "Though I suppose Joffrey is _our_ nephew now." Sansa found herself smiling again, looking across the way at the dwarf with the twinkle in his blue eyes. "There is a statement I never would have thought would come into existence." She turned back to the stitching before her.

"No, I was expecting you to be cleaning King's Landing of coin," Tyrion chuckled. Sansa's cheeks burned red yet again, no doubt people would think she to be a rose herself with such a deep shade of red she carried on her face constantly.

"I think Margaery would not like to have so much spent on her," Sansa replied. Tyrion sighed.

"I am sure Margaery is enjoying all the money which is to be spent on her," His boots made a clunk as he hit the ground. "Be careful not to hold the Tyrells to such a high standard. They are nowhere close as honorable as your wolf clan."

"I think Margaery is a kind person," Sansa retorted. "I think she would care very deeply about the state of the kingdom."

"I cannot convince your opinion otherwise, Sansa. But there is more to Margaery Tyrell that meets the eye. Almost as much as her brother," Tyrion smiled. He had waddled over to the small serving table and was filling up a glass of wine.

"I wanted to- to thank you," Sansa felt the words burst from her lips.

"I cannot force one's personal convictions- outward obedience and inward defiance are so often hand in hand." Tyrion took a draught of wine.

"I am not thanking you for allowing me my own opinions," Sansa's stomach churned."I...I suppose I should thank the gods for your mercy-"

"Do not thank the gods for something which was not a blessing to you," Tyrion replied.

"I am thanking you for interrupting the conversation between Her Grace and myself this afternoon."

"Sansa, it is my joy to break up any conversation in which Cersei looks like she is about to devour her prey," He smiled. "It ruins all her fun while giving me a side of satisfaction."

"Your timing was a blessing."

"What was it my sister was prowling around you about?" Tyrion stood drinking his wine as he watched Sansa attentively.

"What she said was not a falsehood," Sansa began, her chest heavy and breathing became a hard act to perform. "She asked after me about the dress."

"What a kindness," Tyrion's voice was dry.

"And she talked a bit about the wedding," Sansa's head returned to her lap. She was trying to breath more deeply as her raw throat burned with every inhale. She bit back more tears. _So many tears. What do you expect, stupid girl? To drown?_

"Sansa," Tyrion placed his cup back on the table, he came to her side. _He has come so close as of late._ Sansa watched him shimmering and blurring as he pulled himself on the window seat next to her. She was silent during the process, afraid that her cheeks would grow tight with salt water once again.

"Sansa," Tyrion repeated himself again. He did not reach out to her and a part of her wanted so badly for him to place a reassuring hand on her thigh.

"I do not wish to disgrace the Queen Regent," Sansa shook her head.

"Cersei is quite capable of doing that herself." Tyrion assured her.

"She asked me about Ser Dontos and then told me that she was only inquiring because she was worried for my safety. That so many...accidents could happen." Sansa was not sure when her limbs began shaking. Her fingers clutched the hoop of the stitching project tightly, dropping the needle into her lap. She started to sense it creeping up into her forearm, her shoulders, her jaw.

"Oh, Sansa," Tyrion's voice was filled with genuine concern. Sansa's mouth opened, her breath as shaky as her parted lips. She dropped her project to the floor finally, grabbing the skirts of her dress.

Warmth overtook her right hand, the one nearest her husband. She looked down and saw that his hand wrapped around the curve of hers. "Her threats are none with which you should be worried."

"She is right; I am the last Stark of Winterfell. It would take nothing for her to poison me or send someone to strangle me in my sleep." Sansa collapsed forward, her left hand cradled her forehead as dizziness overcame her. Her right was still being held by Tyrion.

"Sansa," She realized that him saying her name was comforting. _I have a name, I have his sympathies._ She closed her eyes until a pulling of her right hand got her attention. She looked down at Tyrion, whose jaw was set and tight.

"When I placed that cloak over your shoulders I extended my protection." He assured her.

He pulled her further down toward him until her shoulders were closer to him. He then pulled her down into his lap, her right ear pressed against his stunted thighs. She took comfort in the gesture, her left hand crossing over her body and resting on his kneecap before her face. Tyrion's hand went to running through the hairs near her exposed cheek, his fingers lightly brushing against her high cheeks and temples. Sansa closed her eyes.

"My sister has tried to kill before and I've been her foil. You have my protection, Sansa, and I promise you, I will not let any harm come to you." He leaned forward and placed a kiss on her temple. "And I promise that I will give you another Stark."

Sansa shuddered as his breath tickled the outside of her ear. The small tugs of her hair sent shivers of ecstasy down her spine. _How long have I longed just for a kind touch? Why does he extend such mercy? What will he want from me?_

"Which is why I extend my thanks to you," Sansa said, her cheek warming from the heat radiating from his body.

"There is no need for thank yous, it is my duty to uphold my promise." He assured her, his thumb tracing her cheek bone gently.

 _This was the honor which my father once promised me,_ Sansa thought as she grew silent in Tyrion's lap. His hand was now rubbing her shoulders, her arms. Gently warming her frigid limbs. His fingers squeezing the frozen muscles. _But he promised I would get someone better than a Lannister_. Sansa closed her eyes tightly, banishing the memory of her father's head splitting from his neck, falling before his body. She tried to think of something else.

So she thought of brushing out Lady's soft ashy hair, just like the way the hands about her head did ever so often. The tugs, the pulls. And soon Lady was before her, smiling with her direwolf snout only the way direwolves can. Her tongue hanging happily from her parted muzzle. The fur was warm and smelled like the pureness of snow with the heady scent of the winter trees outside of Winterfell. Lady pushed up against Sansa, her body warming the girl's shaking parts. She licked her face, her tongue a comfort. Sansa wrapped her arms about her direwolf-

And awoke to the moonlight streaming through the window. She was on the bed, her head on a pillow and no longer on Tyrion's lap A blanket was draped over her body, pulled up to her neck. _He must have had Podrick move me_. She gathered up the thought as wakefulness came to her. And with her consciousness came her panic.

She sat upright in bed, looking about the room with a heaving chest as she heard footsteps. _Cersei's men, no doubt. Someone with a rope to wrap about my long neck_. Her hand came to her throat, her fingers curling around the supple skin.

A small mutter drew her attention again. She looked next to her to see Tyrion close to her side. So close she was surprised that her sudden movement had not awoken him. He lay on his side, his eyes closed gently in sleep. His scar was dark over his forehead in the moon's light.

Sansa lowered herself back to the mattress, pulling the blanket over her chest once more as she settled her head back on the pillow. She closed her eyes, her heart slowing its rapid pounding in her ears as she let out a deep exhale. There would be no man tonight to try and strangle her in the sheets. Not with him so close to her. Not with him between her and the door.

She thought of Lady again, the pleasant scene of the two of them before the walls of Winterfell, this time with snow on the ground. Lady bounced about the cold powder.

And with the thoughts of Lady in her mind and the steady inhale and exhale of her husband beside her, Sansa fell into a deep sleep that she had not experience in King's Landing in many a month.


	7. Remembering

The halls to his sister's chambers were lined with guards in heavy armor with formidable weapons on their girded hips. _You guard your lady day and night while she makes threats to toward young vulnerable women in her keep._ Tyrion smirked as he passed, Bronn following lazily behind. The sounds of the sellsword eating echoed along the silent chamber halls, Tyrion saw the looks that some of the soldiers gave Bronn. One of the men stopped before Cersei's door, his sword held upright in his hand.

"Stop! Her Grace has mentioned no visitors." The man's voice was deep and harsh, Tyrion supposed he was meant to scare any potential visitors away.

"I was not aware that family had to have permission to visit one another." Tyrion said innocently. Bronn threw the core of his fruit at the foot of the man before the two.

"Seems like Her Grace cannot have decency toward her own kin," He mocked. "This kingdom is surely fucked."

 _Ahh I love when he knows to work over someone with me_. "It's making its way to the bed to say the least."

"Wait!" The knight called after Tyrion as he started to turn. "I will permit you to enter, only because you are kin."

 _Oh Cersei, you and your pathetic watchman_. "I thank you." Tyrion watched the knight as he begrudgingly opened the door.

Cersei sat at her vanity, one of her ladies in waiting was brushing out her golden mane as Cersei sat perfectly still. Tyrion's entrance, however, caused her to turn in her chair to inspect her visitor. A scowl crossed her ruby lips and she turned back to the mirror, signaling she was not interested in his presence. Tyrion entered further into her presence all the same,

"What do _you_ want?" Cersei scowled at Tyrion in the mirror.

"Just to visit my dear, loving sister." Tyrion responded. He spotted wine on her table and made his way towards it.

"You did not come to merely drink of my wine, did you dear brother?" Cersei's voice was sickeningly sweet, yet she did not move from her pose in front of the mirror.

"No, I came here more on my lady wife's need than anything." Tyrion greedily poured the wine into a cup which had been upturned on the table.

"How sweet. Does she wish death instead of marriage to you?" A smile crept across her face.

"Quite the opposite," Tyrion took a sip of the wine. "Sister, you hoard all of the good wine for yourself."

Cersei turned to look at her brother with flashing blue eyes. "What do you want, Tyrion? Why are you here?"

"To tell you that if any of your men lay a hand on Sansa, they will rue the day they listened to you." Tyrion watched her over the lip of his cup as he took a deeper gulp of wine.

"How dare you-" Cersei stood, pushing her handmaiden away from her. "You have come to me with threats?"

"Only warnings." Tyrion assured her. "As I have told your son, Sansa is no longer your 'little dove' to torment at the hands of your paw."

"How adorable, the little man protects his wife." Cersei mocked her brother as she joined him at the table, pouring for herself a cup of wine.

"Sansa is under my protection. I would use the argument that she is a Lannister now, but family blood has proven to be ineffective at keeping one alive." Tyrion said.

"Are you falling in love with that Stark girl?" Cersei smiled over the rim of her cup. "Has she taken that black murderous heart of yours and run with it?" Her smile was grating and he found rage swelling in his belly at the sight.

"Sansa Stark is the key to the North, or have you forgotten as well? If we lose her, we lose the Lannister claim on Winterfell." Tyrion glared at her from under his thick brow. "And we lose whatever chance we have of winning the northern houses to our side."

"Of course you have all the smart answers, Imp." She laughed as she took another draught of wine. "You always know the clever way out of things." Her laugh was not as genuine as she made it.

"I believe it has saved King's Landing," Tyrion said. "It has been wonderful as always to speak with you, my dear Cersei," Tyrion put the half filled cup on the table and turned. "I have many important matters to see to as the Master of the Coin. Finding the coins seems to be the main job I have now."

Cersei did not reply as he made his way to the door. _I hope she has gotten the message. Sansa does not need any more cruelty done to her, she has been dealt enough._

"Tyrion," Cersei called after him as he approached the door. Tyrion turned to see his sister returned to her vanity, sitting pristinely in the chair. Her blue eyes bored into him through the reflection on the mirror. "I will rip her away from you. I will tear that little girl up and you will be able to do nothing more than watch."

Tyrion made no response, instead turning to the door and exiting, shutting it with force as he joined to Bronn and the two guards at the door.

"I take it things went well," Bronn replied with a half cocked smile. Tyrion's heart was pumping in his chest as he quickly made his way down the hall. Bronn had no trouble keeping up.

"I will pay you all the coin I have," Tyrion looked up to Bronn out of the sight of Cersei's bedchamber. "To make sure that no harm comes to Sansa."

"You've certainly change your tune, m'lord." Bronn smiled with a glint in his eyes. "What will Shae think?"

"Shae has no rights to the North, she is of no political importance," Tyrion responded. "And she is a grown woman who has made her choices, not a young girl who has been caged since she began her womanhood."

Bronn shook his head, a grin still on his face. "What did your sister say to get you so riled up?" It was more a ponderance out-loud than a question. But Tyrion was beyond annoyed and was not pleased with the teasing.

"Do I pay you to question me or to listen?" Tyrion turned once more, this time taking the hall which lead to his solar.

"I do a whole lot of listenin', m'lord." Bronn followed. "But half of it ain't even about killin',"

"Well, listen now, Ser Bronn." Tyrion turned with fire in his eyes and a grimace on his lips. "You kill whoever comes near that bedchamber without Sansa's agreement."

"What if it's your darling young nephew?" Bronn mused.

" _Especially_ if it is my darling young nephew." Tyrion once again turned on his heels and strode down the hall as fast as his stunted legs would take him.

* * *

Sansa held the hairnet in her hands, working her fingers over the jewels woven into the wire. _Black amethysts_. Her thumb rolled over one of the hard stones. _Why would Ser Dontos give me this? Why am I to wear this hairnet on the night of Joffrey's wedding?_ Sansa sighed as she stood from the window seat where she had curled up for the afternoon. She had taken to the gift that was given to her by Ser Dontos, a curious hairnet which he commanded her to wear the night of her intended escape.

 _Perhaps it is a sign? So that the man who is looking for me in the crowd, to escort me, will know that it is I? But I would not be so hard to spot. I would be the sad looking girl with dead eyes and red hair next to the small man._ No, she could not bear herself to think of Tyrion that way. He had been a bigger man than most towards her. _Fine, next to Tyrion. At the King's table._

Sansa's fingers entangled in the wire as she ran her fingers over and over it again. _Perhaps if I rub it enough it will tell me the answers._ She knew that now was not the time to ask questions- and these questions would certainly come without answers. So she tucked the hairnet into a small box and placed it on her vanity next to the small doll. Sansa smiled at the small toy with a sinking heart. She took it up in her hands, rubbing its chest with her thumb.

 _He had wanted to best for me_ , She swallowed as her throat thickening, aching as she pictured the hurt look upon her father's face when he had presented her with the doll. _He wanted me to be happy. To remember that I was so young._ She brought the doll close to her face, inhaling the scent that had been adorned with the doll but had faded months ago. She closed her eyes as she kissed the porcelain head of the toy. _I should have thanked him. I should have appreciated all he had done for me. Instead I saw only what I wanted to see-_

"Is trusting Lord Baelish a mistake?" She said aloud, looking down at doll which lay in her hands. "Is there a chance I am making another mistake?" The door opened again and Sansa put the doll down quickly, placing it beside the box.

The room was quiet and silence was slowly eating her away. She barely remembered the days at Winterfell when she would laugh with Jeyne Westerling while walking down the halls. She even missed the sound of Arya's voice, she missed her teasing, and occasionally she missed her sister at the table causing mischief even if it were directed at Sansa. _Wishing does not bring people back_.

She had heard the whispers. When one is very quiet it becomes easier to understand what others are saying behind one's back. She heard them in the stillness of her grief. Joffrey wanted her brother's head to be brought to King's Landing, to be placed in front of Sansa for her to kiss on the night of his wedding. Sansa's anger had raged for him in the depths of her belly, but she was too afraid to disobey him. She was afraid of being slapped again, of being stripped, and humiliated. _But I must not let them get to me_. She scolded herself. _They cannot break my steel skin_. She could not let them.

She tried to think of something other than Joffrey; though such thoughts were few and usually her hate was directed at Cersei when distracted from the monster king. Ever since she was taken from Willas Tyrell and Highgarden. _Puppies and roses, I am no more than a name to them. And a name barely worth keeping. I continue to be such a stupid girl!_ She did not feel tears pressing against her eyes. She just felt empty as she slid into her vanity seat.

But she had felt something, yester evening she most certainly had. What had happened? Why had she allowed Cersei's threats and cruelty wound her so deep? And why had she let Tyrion embrace her like she had? He was still a _Lannister_ , after all. He would help her bear a child- _He is my pawn_. She tried to look at herself in the glass. _I have become a player and I must make my first move_. She told herself the same line over and over again. Fear had kept her from moving for so long, and then desperation and grief moved her forward.

 _What am I doing now?_ She reached forward on the table and took her brush in hand. She pulled her hair from the braids Shae had done for her that morning and began to brush through her red locks. _If only I was a beautiful as Margaery, perhaps I would have been noticed even sooner in the court._

"But everyone fears the Beast King," She grumbled to herself. The sound of the door opening caused Sansa to jump in her chair, afraid to turn and see who was entering. _I should have kept Shae longer, I should have asked her to return sooner-_

Slowly she turned, her breath bated as she steeled to embrace her fate.

But it was only Tyrion. He was muttering to himself and ruddy in the cheeks as he went in search of a book in his many piles.

"My lord," Sansa stood, placing the brush on the vanity table. She knew she would have to announce her presence as Tyrion was engrossed in a hunt.

He turned to look at her and she saw the creases around his mouth pulled into a frown. His eyebrows furrowed, one cut short by the scar. Something was certainly the matter and she sent a prayer to the gods that it was not her doing.

"Ah, Sansa," Tyrion forced a smile as he looked at her. "Forgive my intrusion on your privacy, but I need a book I left here last night," He pulled a thick book from its place among the others. "I shall be on my way so you can commence in whatever it is you do with your day."

"Yes, my lord." She felt her heart sink. _But why am I saddened by his leaving? I should be glad he lets me be instead of being a constant nuisance._

Sansa could not deny that she enjoyed the attention, the kind touches, and caring gestures. She was greedy for mercy and kindness and he was a fountain willing to give it. _He says to me that he could find kindness somewhere in his heart, but for me he has never kept it far from reach with little seeking_.

"Is something the matter, Sansa?" Tyrion paused in his leaving.

"No, m-Tyrion." She needed to say his name. Remember it, the first thing off her tongue.

"Has someone bothered you?" He inquired. Sansa's cheeks reddened.

"No, Tyrion." She insisted.

"You look very beautiful," He said. She froze and stood blinking at him. "I'm terribly sorry, that was a bit-"

"Thank you," She offered him grace. He stopped talking and smiled up at her. "I am glad to please my lord."

Tyrion's smile melted at the corners and he nodded his head curtly. "Yes, of course."

Sansa could feel her body tense when he complimented her, she was always afraid that a compliment of her appearance would lead to something-

 _What, further?_ A part of her laughed inwardly. _You will need to spread your legs again or your dreams of an heir will blow away with the days_.

"I am sincere, Tyrion." She tried again. "All wives wish to be pleasing to the sight of their husband." _You still whistle the words they have taught you_.

The reassurance did not settle the tension that had grown betwixt the two, but she had no more words to offer. His fingers tapped along the book's cover which he held in his hands. He turned with it, most likely returning to the solar. Sansa sighed, a heaviness settling in her chest. A sudden knock at the door startled the both. She looked at Tyrion, feeling her eyes widen as a sweep of fear overtook her body. Every knock, every entrance, every movement in this castle frightened her. And even with the promise of safety, Sansa was not sure she could trust living with any Lannister.

Tyrion raised his eyebrows at her, but called for the intruder to enter. Both were greeted by the face of Podrick; he appeared winded and was red in the face and neck. Sansa looked back at her hands, the tightness in her shoulders melting away.

"Good, Podrick, if you don't mind, I have several books I need brought to the solar to continue in my deciphering of Lord Petyr's extensive coding," Irritation lined Tyrion's voice. Sansa glanced out of the corner of her eye to catch a glance of her husband and his squire. Tyrion was looking up at the awkward boy, gesturing to the stack of books from which he had pulled the black book which now sat in Podrick's tabled hands.

"M-m-m'lord," Podrick stuttered. "I was sent to inform you that Lord Tywin has called you and your lady wife to dinner." Sansa's quickly looked back at her hands, not quite missing Podrick's glance over to her sitting in the chair.

"Someone should tell my lord father that I am in the midst of sorting out this kingdom's mess of a coin." Sansa bit her lip as she listened to Tyrion's annoyance build. "But I shall not wish such misfortune on you. Go and find Lady Sansa's handmaid and return here as soon as possible." He looked back to Sansa. "We shouldn't want to keep my family waiting."


	8. Lions

The dress which Sansa wore was uncomfortably tight around her waist as Shae had pulled the laces a bit harder than normal, she could feel the seams digging into the sides of her dress. Sansa was thankful she could at the very least breath in the silk sky blue gown, a simple dress enhanced by the black jewel work on the bodice, neckline, and sleeves. Tyrion was her compliment with a dusky blue jerkin and doublet and a face as unhappy as hers. The two were seated across from Lord Tywin and Cersei, Joffrey ruling at the head of the table. Sansa was thankful she did not have to look the monster in the eyes, but the harsh look of Lord Tywin across from her caused her bowels to quiver nonetheless.

"Where is your queen this evening?" Tyrion asked Joffrey, taking his first glass of wine in hand.

"We thought it best to have a Lannister dinner." Cersei replied for Joffrey. Sansa felt the older woman's gaze fall on her.

"A welcoming into the family for my new wife, no doubt." Tyrion muttered. Sansa turned her head slightly, her gaze dropping to look over at him. Of course Lord Tywin and Joffrey would want to remind Sansa that she was no longer a Stark, but belonged now to the Lannisters.

"At least she can say that her House is living," Joffrey's grating voice travelled from the end of the table. Sansa's breath caught, her hand pressing against her stomach as she tried to massage away the pain in her tummy. There was no sense in crying before Joffrey and giving him exactly what he wanted.

"Joffrey, I think we can cease the torment," Tywin's voice was deep and commanding, startling Sansa's concentration.

Tyrion shifted in the chair next to her, grabbing his wine glass with a violent grasp. His jaw was set, a vein popping out at his squared temple. He scratched at the scar across his nose after taking a large sip of wine. Sansa felt pity for him as she looked down at her miserable little husband. A pity she had never truly thought she could feel.

This was his family-her family now. A throng of hard and angry people with bitter grudges held onto against the Seven Kingdoms and against each other. Her mother's resentment of Jon Snow paled in comparison to the bickers among the Lannisters. Sansa never knew such hostility. While she and Ayra had certainly had their share of spats, she never feared for her life at her sister's hands. She had heard the whispers from her handmaidens about the threat Tyrion lived in after he was wounded at the Blackwater. Sansa glanced upward, peering from under her brow at the people which sat across from her.

Tywin was certainly old, but he held himself rigid pride and arrogance, making him appear younger. The look of him was cold and bitter, Sansa shivered as he looked over at her with his deep green eyes. Eyes which echoed some sort of sadness deep inside. It did not change the fact that he had no doubt orchestrated her marriage to her dwarf husband.

Next Sansa looked to Cersei. The queen was still beautiful and hid her age well, but she could not hide the sorrow which etched itself into the furrows near her lips. She sat with an cold arrogance, watching her son's every moment. She had become more plump, not grossly so, but enough to soften the bone lines below her neck and the sharp cut of her cheek bone. Perhaps the Queen Regent had as horrible penchant for wine as her brother.

Sansa could not look at the king. She had seen his face a thousand times and she knew that the pain and the bitterness did not mark his round boyish features. Joffrey truly delighted in the torment he inflicted on all his victims. The way he laughed as the guard beat her to the ground. The coldness in his blue eyes as he forced her to stare at her father's head. Joffrey's face often lurked in the depths of her dreams, never fully abandoning her even when he had set her aside. Sansa returned to looking at her hands.

The silence at the table was held tight with no conversation; Sansa would have normally broken such uneasy air at home ( _A home which no longer exists_ ), but this situation was one where she would do better to mind her tongue. She took her fork in hand and attempted to push at the food on her plate, finding her tummy was more likely to expel her dinner than fill her up. Tyrion beside her was no help as she could feel anger and resentment radiate off of him. A peek out of the corner of her eye assured her that he had not even touched his food, but took readily to the wine. She kept her gaze on the plate before her.

"I am thinking about sending you a dress, another to try for the wedding, my little dove." Cersei finally broke the silence. Sansa jumped, her fork scraping against her plate as she jerked. She was not sure what to say to the Queen Regent, especially in the midst of her lion clan.

"Sansa, my mother has asked you a question." Joffrey's voice was lined with annoyance, but he had less cruelty after his grandfather's scolding. Sansa held back her smile as she realized that Joffrey's stupidity was not so much so that he did not know who held the real power in the room.

"Sansa," Cersei's voice was deep and sweet.

"I would give thanks for your generosity, your grace," Sansa bowed her head.

"It's been so long since you've taken up to playing with dolls," Tyrion spoke up, nursing a cup against his chest. Cersei replied with a gentle laugh and a smile which did not reach her eyebrows. "I thought we had a direwolf among our midst, not a child's play toy."

"There are no wolves at this table," Tywin corrected his son. "There are only lions here." Sansa's gaze flickered upward to meet his green stare. She was not sure how to take his statement—of course she was a wolf, perhaps masking in a lion's skin for a spell, but Tywin's tone almost suggested that she was one of them.

Tyrion pushed himself back into his chair, Sansa looked over at him. He set his jaw, looking up at her with hard eyes. She felt her breath catching, she was suffocating in this den, among the growls and the glares.

"While we speak of direwolves-Sansa, you must be ready to return to whatever wreck your house's ward left Winterfell in," Cersei took her cup in hand, a smile hidden behind the rim. But Sansa could see the joy that her now sister in law took in opening fresh wounds.

"Your grace?" Sansa asked.

"Winterfell will be yours to return to, Lady Sansa. In the mean time you will find your place in Casterly Rock until the Boltons are removed from Winterfell. Then one day your heir shall take rule from there," Tywin commented before taking a swallow of wine. "I am sure it will be much more comfortable to escape the eyes of the court after the King's dismissal of your betrothal."

"I am sure you will one day decorate Winterfell with beautiful lions," Cersei commented. Sansa dropped her hands into her lap. _If I have a baby, they will give me Winterfell? It does not make sense_.

"I am sure you will not disappoint us, Sansa," Tywin spoke over his daughter. "Casterly Rock will await you after the wedding, my son will stand as Lord until Winterfell is regained and you both brought to it."

Sansa did not want to accept the deal which was being offered before her. "I will return to Winterfell one day?" She asked.

"My aim is not to deceive you, Lady Sansa," Tywin's voice was deep and it struck a fear in her that she had never felt before. He did not need to threaten or kill like Joffrey—Tywin had already gained his power in his infamous military career. "Your son will be raised at King's Landing under the maesters here."

There was the catch; they would take her son from her and teach him what it was like to be a lion, forgetting his wolf heritage. She nodded her head. She would have no power over her son. She could not teach him to avoid the fights of the south. She had a dream of perhaps influencing her son to break all ties with the south and bringing together the North. She had ideal of bringing Winterfell together again.

"He will be raised in the best of care, my little dove, no need to begin your mourning." Cersei smiled. _Of course, you would hope to hook your claws into my child and eat him alive_.

And then Sansa remembered that she would not need to worry about Cersei or Tywin or Joffrey. She knew that Lord Petyr would come over the seas to save her, to bring her back to Winterfell without the help of Lord Tywin. And if he did fail her, if he fulfilled her husband's prophecy of being nothing but a con, she could certainly speak with Margaery. The girl understood her plight, she understood Sansa's need for escape. Margaery loved her as a sister, did she not? She had done what she could to try to spirit Sansa away to the Tyrells before she was married quickly to Tyrion.

But then there was Tyrion and…no, she would not feel bad about leaving him behind because she did not love him.

"I understand," Sansa spoke up. She looked up at Tywin, she knew what she needed to do. She needed Tywin to trust her, to respect her. "I would only want my son to be raised by the best."

"It is a true jape that I have not been told about _my_ heir being sent off." Tyrion's voice was thick, his words rolling around his mouth.

"Your lady wife seems to have sense about her son's education," Tywin replied. "I would hope that you would have the same."

"Or I would have the sense to see when my father wants to turn a lion against another lion. Throw us all in the pit and rile us up for a bloodbath? He only gives me Casterly Rock when I agree to rape my wife. Sansa, do not believe that my father was a kind and loving father; he never pulled me into his lap and told me his old battle stories."

Sansa's face went white as she looked across the way to Tywin. His eyes were darkening and she could see that her husband's drunken mutterings were not amusing to him.

"Perhaps mother would have—but we'll never know since you killed her." Cersei's voice was raw and just above a whisper. The color in Tywin's voice continued to build as the color in Sansa's faded. The siblings had taken it too far, Sansa was fighting the urge to grab Tyrion's arm and beg him to stop. She did not want to awake the pride's leader; the man who could end them all in the blink of an eye.

"I am sure you would have been the darling daughter of her dreams," Tyrion shot back, his scar pulled tight as her frowned at his sister.

"I was until you came along, you monster."

"Cersei," Tywin's voice interrupted the conflict; it was sharp and loud, angry and unforgiving. Sansa found herself wincing, wishing she could hide beneath the table. "I think it is time you returned to your chambers."

"Father, I have not finished—"

"Return to your chambers, and take your son with you." Tywin's voice had dropped in volume, but it increased in severity. Sansa clasped her shaking hands between her knees, her throat was burning as it closed on her. She could not look up at the patriarch.

Tyrion began laughing at his sister in his alcohol infected state. Cersei turned and glared at her brother as she made her way from the table. Joffrey was pitching a fit, throwing his arms away from her.

"I have done nothing!" Joffrey cried out.

"Come, Joffrey, the wedding is going to tire you out and we should begin to rest." Cersei tried her soft mother voice on her irrational son. It did not work.

"Everyone is to return to their chambers, your mother has assured this dinner is over." Tywin stated. Sansa's heart was racing in her chest as she stood. Tyrion pushed himself away from the table with stiff gusto, sliding to the ground. He had not touched his food, Sansa noticed.

"Sansa," Tywin called after her. Sansa looked down at Tyrion would waddled off kilter before her. He looked up at her, concern filling his eyes. He kept moving forward, however.

Sansa turned, her head bowed to her chest.

"Yes, my lord?" She asked.

"You are a smart girl," Tywin's voice was still a growl, but he was not ready to bite her yet. "Do not disappoint me."

Sansa placed her hand on her stomach, but managed a quick curtsy. "Yes, my lord. Of course, my lord."

"Now go," Tywin commanded of her, and Sansa hastily obeyed. She curtsied hastily again and turned to leave.

She left the door and turned right into Joffrey.


	9. Hasty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, mature chapter. Again, sorry if this is too soon. And as always- if you read, be mature. And enjoy! Reviews, critiques, comments are always welcome! :)

Tyrion's gait swayed much more than was usual as Sansa followed him back to their bed chambers. She had rushed to catch up with him after she had unexpected run into the future King on her way out after Tywin stopped her. Sansa clasped her hands before her waist, her heart heavy in her chest.

She was shivering in fright from the encounter with Joffrey; he had grabbed her elbow tightly as he pulled her close to him. Tremors flooded down her legs as she felt his warmth against her arm. _I am sorry I have not visited you, my lady_ , He had whispered. _But you will get your Lannister baby soon enough. And Casterly Rock will be a true promise._ Sansa had pulled away from him, excusing herself from his presence and making the claim that her lord husband would be very angry if she did not follow promptly. Something which Sansa could not say with conviction.

Tyrion was silent as he threw open the door to the chambers, making his way to the wine which never ran dry in the room. Sansa closed the door gently behind her, standing awkwardly at the entrance of the chambers as she watched her husband seek solace in a cup.

"My lord-" She began.

"No need for talk, Sansa, now you understand more of the monster you have been chained to."

"I am sorry, my lord, I did not mean to-" Sansa was unsure of what to say.

"No, Sansa," He looked up at her, the cup in hand. "You have no need for apologies."

"I did not mean to shame you, Tyrion," She hung her head. "I should have not responded to her grace, I should have let you speak with your sister. I meant to cause no harm." _He is my only protection, remember that you stupid girl!_ She scolded herself. She did not do it all for her gain; she was finding a true sadness at Tyrion's twisted brow and screwed mouth.

"No, no, no, Sansa," Tyrion shook his head. "Do not apologize for the harm my family has done to you." He took a gulp of wine.

"My lord, please," Sansa hated that cup now, nearly as much as she hated Joffrey's face.

"Sansa, you have always been a sweet girl," Tyrion looked up at her, his blue eyes soft underneath his thick scarred brow.

"What happened?" She dared ask. Tyrion looked up at her with a puzzled expression."I mean, with your mother," She knew the question was dangerous and she shook her head, trying to wash her words away. She moved from where she stood, in an attempt to return to her window seat. She was stopped when Tyrion reached out and grabbed her hand.

"She died in childbirth," His answer was short and quick, but she could feel the sorrow behind the words he tried to keep from shaking. "My life for hers."

"Oh," Sansa paused in her escape, turning to look down at him. "but- you did not intend to kill your mother."

"No, I suppose I did not," The left side of Tyrion's mouth bent up into a sad smirk. Sansa sank to her knees before him, looking into his eyes.

"I do not see a monster, my lord." She assured him. "The monster sat at the end of the table in the other room." She reached out hesitantly, not sure if she truly wanted to touch him yet. But the pain that was in his eyes for a deed he had no true desire to commit broke her heart. So her hand reached forward and brushed a lock from his forehead, a simple gesture which barely required her to make contact with him.

Her hands were trembling as she reached forward and she willed them to stand still, but they refused to yield. Tyrion noticed, seizing her hand by the wrist. She watched his thick fingers let go of her slender wrist and felt them run under the curve of her palm, turning the back of her hand towards the ceiling. He gripped her fingers in-between his thumb and fingers, pressing a gentle kiss on her knuckles.

"Do not think I am a gentle lion, my lady," Tyrion let go of her fingers. "I just will not hurt you."

Sansa sighed, her mouth dropping open as she looked away from him. He gently reached forward to touch her cheek. She licked her lips and looked back to him, unsure of how to react. He smirked again. "My family is much more ruthless toward wolves than I am. You do best to mind your tongue, and when you have learned the task of mastering it, please do tell me."

Sansa chuckled gently, standing once again, gripping her elbows as she walked past him. A sense of dread weighted her limbs. _I must, before Joffrey keeps his promise_. So she began to loosen the ties of her dress with the sound of Tyrion drinking his glass of wine noisily behind her. Her fingers fumbled over the strings, still startled by the King's promise. She pulled them violently, pulling the dress from her shoulders and pushing it to the floor. The rustle of clothe caused Tyrion to turn from his wine to his wife.

"Sansa, no," Tyrion frowned, his brows furrowing as he looked her over.

"Do I have to keep reminding my lord of his promise." She mustered the courage she had discovered earlier at the table. _He will not savage me the way his kin will_. She told herself.

"Sansa, please, I am not so sure this is the best idea." He set the wine cup down and approached her, reaching out to grab her hand in his.

"You promised," Sansa raised her eyebrows at him

"Sansa-" Tyrion began again. She steeled her herself and pulled her hand out of his.

He shook his head and left her, crossing to the other side of the room. Sansa pushed her small clothes from her body, extinguishing some candles on her way to the bed. _This is nothing like how I imagined my marriage_. She gulped, her hand resting on her belly. _If only children came from the gods wood. Pray hard enough and they lay a baby before your feet._

 _But he could be so much worse. He could be Joffrey where rape would be common. He has not raped you, stupid girl, like his father commanded him. You have asked him to take your maidenhead. You asked him to help you have a child._ Sansa silenced her thoughts, assuring herself that a small boy would be worth the trouble. _I will keep him from horrors of a bitter family_.

Tyrion was beside her soon enough, his weight pressing down on the mattress. She turned her head to look at him. His face was shadowed in the dimmed light. Sansa forced her lips to smile at him, forced herself to reach over and place the knuckle of her hand on his chest. Tyrion reached up and took her fingers in his hand.

"We can stop, now." He said. Sansa leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. A sigh escaped from his nose and his hand went up to cradle her cheek. "Sansa, you are more clever than any will give you credit." He then tilted his head upward and took her mouth in his.

The taste of wine flooded her mouth again as his wet lips pulled at hers. She kissed him back this time, her body twisting so that her elbows were now at the sides of his face, her breasts pressed against his chest. Her hips were turned so that her bum and legs were still on the bed. She hovered over him as they kissed feeling her body react violently to his touches. The warmth between her legs became noticeable and her womanhood ached. Sansa's heart was in her throat, but the sharp smacks of their kisses filled her ears. She shuddered when she felt Tyrion's hand grab her breast, pinching her nipple.

She was expecting him to turn her over on her back and get the act over with. Instead she found her legs straddling his smaller hips, she was on her knees with her elbows still bracing her above his head. Her back had a small arch in it as she fit herself over his slightly smaller torso. She continued to kiss him, her body flushing and her limbs aching in delight. He stopped kissing her for a moment, laying his head back to look into her eyes.

"This only works if you allow me to put myself inside of you." His voice was tight. "Or do you just enjoy being a tease and wish to torment me more?"

Sansa rolled her eyes, a smile crossing her lips. "We are the wrong way," she rolled her eyes.

"Oh my innocent wife," he laughed. "Sit."

She looked at him puzzled, but obeyed. She could feel his manhood now, pushing against the inside of her leg. She had not yet blushed, but the feeling of him caused her to redden. The light, though brighter than the first time, was dim enough to hide her blush.

"Sansa, you have to-" Tyrion's eyebrows rose, pulling his scar taught against his face. She looked back at him, her eyes widening.

"I have to...touch...it?" Sansa could not hold back her slight disgust.

"As I am sure you would have had to help Lord Willas if it came down to it." Tyrion's voice was filled with sarcasm, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Sansa groaned as she gently reached between the two, her chest sinking close to him. "It brings your beautiful tits so much closer to me, anyways." He mused. Sansa growled as she helped him find her, though it was a fumbling and awkward process. He took to settling on his elbows, pushing himself more upright so he could kiss and nip as her neck. He let out a soft moan into the skin when she righted him.

"I am assuming- oh!." Sansa was taken by surprise when he pushed upright and she could feel him slide between her legs. He chuckled underneath her as he pulled away from her hips. He pushed into her again and Sansa caught her breath. It was a strange but comforting feeling, the pain from the first night gone.

Sansa felt the tightness return in the pit of her tummy. She found that her body knew more of what to do than she consciously did, her hips pressing against his. Before long she was doing more work than he was as the tightness in her belly continued to build. Her breathing began to become ragged and she gripped the sheets next to his head. Her hips pressed harder against him, the tightness giving way to an itching burn. She was not sure what her body was doing, but she wanted it to continue.

She was close to something, her belly and womanhood screaming, and she slowed her motion afraid of hurting herself. The feeling began to subside and she grew frustrated. Tyrion was groaning underneath her, his eyes closed and his fingers tangled in the hair which was falling from her shoulders.

"Sansa," His eyes opened now and he looked up at her. She bit her lip nervously and return to the motion which caused her tummy to tighten. And the feeling was back. Sansa's body was aching and she found a strange desire to make noises in her throat. Small groans which seemed to come with each stir of her hips.

"Shhh," Tyrion pulled her tight against his body, one hand stroking her head and the other grabbing her tightly. He kissed her again.

And then Sansa's body began to sing. She let out a moan and her body pushed as hard as it could into his hips.

Tyrion's hand flew across Sansa's mouth as he began to move his hips as she stopped. The grip over her lips tightened, the hand wrapped in her hair pulled the strands taught. His hips pushed into hers now and she could feel the wet heaviness between her legs. Her arms shook and she collapsed on the bed next to him.

"As arousing at it is to hear your pleasure," Tyrion smiled as he looked over to her. "Unless you want the castle knowing what you are in the midst of it is best you try to keep from making so much noise."

Sansa frowned as she looked over at him. "I did not mean to-"

"Shhh," Tyrion silenced her with a kiss on her lips. He pulled a blanket over her naked body and then placed a gentle kiss on her temple. "Now sleep, my brave wolf, and dream of the north."

She was drifting to the land of dreams as she felt him leave the bed. She almost reached out to him, asked him to stay just a few more moments. But she did not really want him here, not after she just performed such a private ceremony with him. _I barely like him_. She thought sleepily. But further contemplations were silenced by dreams.


	10. Terrors

Sansa's chest was pounding as she ran down the cobbled alleyway, her soft slippers making scrapping sound down the street. The fear in her made her stomach churn as she bolted past the shops, her heavy hair, piled and styled atop her head, pulled against her scalp and caused her head to pound with the rhythm of her feet. She could hear their angry cries, their calls for her to be raped and killed. It was just a bit faster to the castle, she could make her way to her chambers, lock herself inside.

 _He'll protect me, I just need to get there_. She screamed internally, trying to will her already aching legs to push harder, propel herself further. She could feel hands grab her, fingers tangling into her garments. She was running out of time, out of space between her and the men. She pulled away, but was sent flying back into the arms of her pursuer. His arms were covered in black hair, one wrapped around her throat as she screamed and kicked in terror. She knew what was going to happen. She had been here before.

He dragged her into a nearby house, the floor was lined with straw which pressed into her sides. His friends grabbed her arms, pulling her hands to either side of her. She tried to kicked, tried to pull her hands from the grips of the men. She let out a scream, her throat aching from the cries. But the men only grabbed her legs, pulling her small clothes from her, ripping her skirts away from her hips. The straw pushed into the soft, delicate skin of her bum and scratching the back of her thighs. The two other men grabbed her ankles.

She realized the four men shined in the sunlight streaming through the window. They were wearing armor, their helms catching the rays. White cloaks spilled down their backs, wrapped about their shoulders and hung with about their necks with a gold chain. She barely had the time to let the word ' _Gold Cloaks_ ' cross her mind before she looked at the man stripping his pants between her legs.

His arms were no longer black, instead the skin was lined with golden hairs. She did not need to look at the cold green eyes and the permanent smirk across his face to know who it was. She screamed again, pulling her shoulders with all her might. The guards hands were strong, they pulled at her feet, pressing her to the floor.

The floor was no longer the floor, it was a mattress filled with bones. Sansa looked up to see Joffrey pushing his breeches away from his delicate hips. Sansa closed her eyes, arched her back, and tried to pull away. Tears wet her cheeks as she sobbed, her lips trembling...

* * *

And then she was being shaken, her shoulders held fast by hands. She shot awake, sitting upright and trying to move away from the grip. "No, please, no," Sansa wept, locking her hands around her bare breasts.

"Sansa?" A deep voice spoke next to her. Sansa shivered, not from the chill in the air but from the fear which had overtaken her limbs. Her chest pounded as she gasped for air, kicking away the sheets from her feet. They wrapped around her ankles like the hands in her dreams. She choked on her tears as she pulled her feet under her, wrapping her knees to her chest.

"My lady, what has happened?" Tyrion looked up at her from the bed. She blinked, her stomach still churning with the bile she felt while running.

"Nothing," she swallowed the liquid which was climbing up her throat. "It was nothing."

"Tears, screaming, and tremendous kicking does not equal nothing," His voice was stern, but she could hear the concern behind it. She was still shaking, her back completely bare. "Why don't you slip into your shift, we can have some wine together."

"It is late, my lord," She said. Tyrion made a snorting disapproval.

"And my sleep is shit as usual," He leapt from the bed, he came around to her side and held out his hand, his head bowed gently. _Like when he had me clothed in front of Joffrey's_ _throne_.

Shakily she extended her arm, taking it. She placed one bare foot on the chilled floor next to the bed, soon followed by the other. She trembled as she stood, partly from the cold now. She placed a hand over her breasts whose nipples were erect from the chill.

"Wrap the blanket about you," Tyrion commanded. Sansa complied, her mind foggy as she stiffly drew the silk around her body.

Tyrion waddled to the other side of the room as she stood before the bed, frozen and unable to move. She could still see Joffrey's cold blue eyes staring her down; his hands wrapping around her calves as his nails dug into the flesh. Sansa wanted to scream again, but the sound was caught in her throat. It was choking her and she began to gasp for breath.

Tyrion had returned and took her by the hand once more, white clothing was clasped in hand. "My lady," He held the garment out to her. She took it, realizing it was her shift. She let go of the blanket, pulling the shift over her head, over her long body, and hugged her body close when she had put it on.

Tyrion had a frown on his twisted face, he held his hand out to her once more. Sansa took it with a still tremoring hand. He led her to the chaise before the dying fire where she stood as a statue, looking dully at the coals before her, unable to focus on their glowing.

"Sit, Sansa," Tyrion's voice was far away, in her mind he was not in front of her. She slowly sank to the cushions behind her, never able to take her eyes off the fire. Tyrion left her side once more and she felt her fear clutching her throat again. She was going to suffocate on the stone in her throat, she was gasping for air as it was. Tyrion returned to her side with the sheet once more. He held it out to her and she took it absentmindedly, wrapping it around her arms.

"I will be back in a moment, my lady." Tyrion reached out and took hold of the hand she was using to prop herself up on her thigh. She looked at him when he took it, her hand relaxing. But she could not make herself respond so she only looked at him. He sighed and left once more.

The room was still cold and her muscles bunched up around her neck and shoulders and arms and she let out another cry. A wave of exhaustion overtook her suddenly and she wanted to crawl back to the bed to hide underneath the sheets. But she could not find the energy. _I am a Stark, I can be brave_. She told herself. She could not shake the paralysis from her limbs, however. _He is going to come in the dark, he is going to have his guards hold me down just like he did in my visions. Dreams oft tell us what is to happen, don't they?_

She had not noticed that Tyrion had returned, it was not until Bronn came into the room that she realized there were other people there. She jumped at the dark movement she saw out of the corner of her eye.

"It is okay, Sansa," Tyrion held his hands out in front of him, palms down. "It is just Bronn, I asked him to stir up the fire."

"M'lady's seemed to have her a bit of a shock." Bronn chuckled as he knelt before the fire. "I don't understand why I'm doing this job, don't you have a squire?"

Tyrion did not look impressed with the question. Bronn rolled his eyes as he added some more squares of wood to the coals, blowing gently as he prodded the logs. Sansa watched as the fire grew, warmth beginning to kiss her bare toes. Tyrion was still standing next to Bronn, he had not approached her since he had left last.

"Now go and fetch my squire, tell him I need him to ask the kitchens for some warmed spiced wine." Tyrion ordered.

"Do I look like your errand boy?" Bronn scoffed.

"Yes, at the moment you do." Tyrion commanded. "Now go!"

Bronn turned with a scowl, but left the room nonetheless. Tyrion stood in front of the fireplace, his back to her and his hands folded behind him. The fire began to melt away her stiffness and the exhaustion became more powerful. She found herself sliding onto the chaise, her head resting on the back of furniture. She wanted so badly to be held again. _Mother used to hold me after I had bad dreams._ She felt the tears which had dammed at the back of her eyes, they pricked the corners of her vision. _She would pull me into her lap, wrap her arms around me, and sing. But I always had nightmares about red blemishes on my face or Sansa ruining one of my dresses._ A tear tickled the curve of her cheek as it slid free of its well.

Tyrion did not move until Podrick entered the chambers, two cups on a serving plate balanced on his hand. "M'lord," He mumbled sleepily. "Is there anything more I can do for you?"

Tyrion looked up at the boy and shook his head. "Return to sleep," He commanded the boy. Sansa watched him leave, her body still not wishing to move from its slumped position. "My lady," Tyrion held out a cup. Sansa willed her arm to move, to take it from him.

The cup was warm to the touch, and the smell which wafted from the steam was sweet and sharp. She knew exactly what it was- spiced wine. She sat her heavy body upwards and took a gulp. The liquid was hot as it chased down her thickened throat and warmed her chest. It was a bit strong for her usual taste, but now it bothered her little. Tyrion took the other cup in his hand and took a draught. She watched him balk for a moment, before he came to her side. She looked down at him, still silent.

"Sansa," He reached out to grab her hand. She took his offered hand in hers, squeezing the stunted fingers and warm palms. He looked up at her, a soft grimace on his lips. She lay back on the chaise once more. He hesitated before climbing onto the chaise next to her.

She looked at him with cautious eyes, but the lump of fear in her throat had subsided when he was near. The sight of Bronn had even steadied some of her nerves. _I will not totally be alone when Joffrey comes_. She thought. Tyrion looked up at her, pulling her hand close to him and kissing the knuckles of her fingers.

"My lady, are you feeling better?" He asked. Sansa did not realize how close the tears were in her eyes. She continued gazing at the fire, but nodded her head in answer. Tyrion's thumb rolled over the back of her hand. Her eyes glanced down to see him stroke her so tenderly.

"It was a nightmare," She forced herself to say, her gaze returning to the dancing flames of the fire.

"And here I thought it was the most fantastic dream you have ever had," Tyrion responded dryly. "Forgive me," He quickly responded.

"I am sorry, my lord, I did not mean to cause a stir this evening." She said. Tyrion's sigh was audible.

"No, Sansa, how many times must I insist that you are no prisoner, there are no apologies to be made for terrible dreams."

Sansa took another drink of her warmed spice wine, the drink calming her nerves. She shivered as the image of Joffrey circled again and again around her mind. So she turned to pushing away the cold by drinking every bit of the hot drink, the heat spreading across her chest and into her belly.

"Come, my lady, you should return to sleep." Tyrion touched her arm gently.

"It was Joffrey," Sansa was not sure what drew her to confession. The words were pushed out by the heat of the wine, perhaps?

"What do you mean?" Tyrion had finished his cup as well; she noticed when he turned and looked at her, one of his hands wrapping around her back. She shook her head.

"My night terror," She answered. "I have had them since the riot in King's Landing last year. Men chasing me, grabbing at me. Trying to-" She could not bring herself to say the word. It would mean that her fears were real. "And now the man who is going to...hurt me, he has Joffrey's face."

Tyrion could not answer. Not at first. He pushed himself from the chaise and to the floor, taking the wine cup in hand. He walked across the room, gripping the cup. Sansa watched him.

"He threatened me," She was still unsure as to why she was telling him all of these secrets. "He threatened me that he would come when you were passed out. That he would—he would do what the man in my dream did."

She dared to look over at him. His lip was twisted, his jaw tight as his anger grew. The shadows of the firelight accentuated his scars, making him in a gargoyle in the night. She felt no fear toward him now. His eyes looked at her for a moment, before he turned and walked further from her, throwing his cup into the nearest wall. Sansa jumped at the sound.

She felt herself grow more sleepy even after the sound startled her, as the fire warmed her bones and the wine made her head swim. She did not want to deal with more anger. She stood, wrapping the sheets around her shoulders. Tyrion turned, his lips were pressed together. When he looked up at her, however, she saw sadness, no, pity in his eyes.

"I do want to sleep now," She said to him. Tyrion nodded his head.

"Yes, of course." He agreed. He approached her, slowly at first until he saw she did not cower. When he reached her he took her hand in his. She wrapped her fingers around the soft fingers of her lord husband's hand. She could feel her legs grow heavy beneath her.

She returned to the bed with her hand in his, too tired to think of the touch between them. She climbed up onto the mattress, letting go of Tyrion's hand.

"Please," she looked down at him, pulling the sheet tighter around her body. She was not entirely sure what she was asking truly.

"My lady?" He looked at her.

"Can you stay with me for awhile?" She asked. _He is not your mother_. She scolded herself. Tyrion's lips pressed to the right in a slight grin.

"If my lady wife wishes." He replied.

Sansa sat up and fixed the sheet back on the bed, pulling the over blanket back into place from where she had kicked it free. Tyrion, meanwhile, returned to the other side of the bed. Sansa lay back onto the bed, the mattress pillowing around her body. She turned her head to look at the small man. He settled into the place next to her. She moved herself closer to him, daring to place her head near his side.

"Sansa," He shifted next to her. She felt his arm around her, pulling her closer to his chest. She finally closed the gap, too tired to hold onto her revulsion and hatred toward the House Lannister. She needed someone to hold her while she shivered with terror, and he offered her protection. A small sort of protection, but enough to make her feel safe.

She pressed her ear to his chest hearing the thumping of his heart. She was comforted by the rhythm, her eyes closing once again. She felt Tyrion place a kiss in the mess of her hair atop her head. Her arm absently wrapped about his torso and she fell asleep against his undulating chest.


	11. Walls

Once again kept from a restful night of sleep, Tyrion began his day before the sun rose. He was unable to fall asleep after Sansa had woken him with a scream, groaning and flailing in her sleep. He had crept back into the bed after she had fallen asleep after their fuck, keeping his distance from her. He was glad for it when her violent reactions proved to be of full strength.

Her eyes when they opened from her mind's prison made his heart ache in a way he had never experienced before; they were full of terror and pain, wide as they could go. Her mouth hung open for half a heartbeat and she appeared as someone who was struggling to get their breath back. And then she flew forward.

Tyrion was trying to put the night from his mind. All it was doing was making him more cranky than his lack of sleep already did. The last thing he needed in this marriage was to be reminded again about how woefully inadequate he was. He was not able to hold all of her in his arms, not able to carry her stiffened body back to the bed, and he could only pull her so close the evening before.

 _Again, she must care for herself while her monstrous husband can do so little for her. But what does it matter? She is not seeking my love_. He told himself that every time she looked at him with softened blue eyes. They were not long glances, and he was sure that she did not truly mean them. He was able to make her feel safe, freeing her as best he could in the cage which held her. He righted himself when he found his stomach lurching with the desire to give her everything.

 _Give her everything and you will_. He had been with her twice in an intimate manner and he found himself forgetting about his duty of giving her his seed to implant in her young womb. Tyrion saw a scared young woman the first time he had been with her. The fire had cast enough light for him to see her eyes closed tight in pain, a grimace across her delicate lips, and he could not bear the thought that he was causing her as much pain as the rest of his family did. He had to do something to please her, to make her body sing the way her tight virginal walls made his. She needed to be taught a new song.

He tried to force her from his mind as he made his way to the solar to continue his deciphering of Littlefinger's records. The man was as secretive with his ledger as he was with his relationships. He had been the true reason that Ned Stark did not leave Winterfell with his family alive, not Sansa's misguided trust. But Tyrion did not have the heart to tell his young wife the story of Lord Petyr Baelish's betrayal. Nor could he banish her from ever speaking to him again, as much as Tyrion would love to keep her trust and hope far from the deceitful man.

 _What does he want with Sansa? Cersei had already denied his piteous request to wed her._ He looked out the window to watch the sunlight dancing along the waves of the Blackwater in the distance. Tyrion shook his head at the thought of Petyr Baelish having any amount of control in the North. _He sees Sansa as his key, and he sees a way to sit his own arse upon that cursed throne_.

The clearing of a throat interrupted his ponderings and he turned his head violently to see Bronn standing at the entrance of the door, his hands crossed before his body as his left hand grabbed his right wrist. A playful smile worked its way through his dark beard. Tyrion was not in the mood any more for jokes than he was for coin.

"I thought I paid you extra to stand in front of my lady's door," Tyrion turned back to the scroll in front of him, irritation lined his voice.

"I thought the lady was more in question than the door," Bronn's smile opened to reveal teeth. Tyrion showed his amusement by continuing to read, not looking up at his sellsword.

"I do not find your japes concerning the safety of Sansa Stark to be humorous right now, Bronn." He did not yet take his eyes off the paper before him. "I am sorry if-"

The appearance of his lady wife before the sellsword stopped him. She stood newly dressed in a grey velvet dress, her hands crossed before her hips were hidden by her long sleeves. Her auburn hair was only pulled up at the sides, the rest cascading over her shoulders. Her head was bowed into her chest. He felt a sharp stab in the left corner of his chest. She still did not feel safe enough to look him directly in the eye when she first came to him.

"My lady, I am sorry I am rather gruff this morning." He pushed himself from his chair, standing before the presence of this beautiful woman. _Joffrey's treachery lost not only a wise ruler, but a truly gorgeous artwork of a lady_ , he mused inwardly.

"Tyrion," She looked up at him. A breath hitched in his throat when he heard his name roll off her tongue. "I apologize if I have taken Bronn where I should not have."

"Nonsense, Sansa. Please, come in and have a seat," He gestured to the small amount of furniture adorning the room. Sansa took a cautious step forward, turning to look at Bronn for a moment. He nodded his head and left the room leaving the couple alone. "You must be very tired, my lady, you should have stayed abed."

"I am," She nodded her head. "But you were not in the room when I awoke and I wanted to thank you for your presence of mind last night. I am embarrassed that I was not all there, I know I have robbed you of whatever little sleep you could have gotten last night."

"Are you better this morning, Sansa?" He watched her take a chair near the one he had been perched in.

"Yes, I had a pleasant dream after," Sansa nodded her head. Tyrion found himself smiling in pleasure.

"Oh, and may I ask what it is you dreamed about?"

"I would prefer not to say." Sansa responded. Tyrion let out a hearty laugh.

"You keep your secrets close, my beauty," He was amazed at how graceful she remained even when taking her chair. "Since you are no doubt dreaming of a pleasant tryst with your Knight of Flowers," He enjoyed teasing her about imagining herself entangled with another men. More desirable ones. She squirmed at the suggestion.

"No, Tyrion," She looked up at him. "I did not." He shifted uncomfortably, for once not having a remark to answer the deep blue eyes which shone across from him.

"I am being rude, my lady, would you care for a drink?" He asked.

"I would not, I have yet to break my fast. I awoke when the sun was rather late in the sky." She answered.

"Well, my lady, you should have taken care of it," He took to the chair next to her.

"I am not hungry. And I wanted to come and thank you,"

"You have given me a lot of thanks already, there is no need for you to express it every time I do something to make you more comfortable." He insisted.

"I am sorry, my lord, that I am upsetting you with my thankfulness," She bit her lip.

"I am not upset by the feeling, Sansa," He sighed. "I just wish your gratitude did not always spill forth to words; you make me feel as if you think of yourself as a prisoner."

"Am I truly not?" Her large blue eyes looked over him. Tyrion shook his head.

"You will have Winterfell," Tyrion promised. "I will take you there as soon as I am able. We will rebuild the walls, does this please _you_?"'

Sansa's blue eyes flickered for a moment, but a small smile crept over her pink lips. "It would."

"Then tell me what it is you want to have brought to Winterfell as we rebuild and you shall have it. Every corner back where you desire it to be." His heart lightened as he saw a glimpse of joy come to her features. She sat taller, her smile pressed harder against the sides of her mouth, her eyes danced with light, and she unfolded her hands in front of her body.

"That would bring me the most happiness," Sansa confessed. Tyrion outstretched his hand, signaling for her to reach out to take his. She did without any hesitation.

"Sansa, I apologize for my lack of abilities to properly care for you. But I promise I will do all that is in my power to keep you happy."

"You make very hasty promises to me, Tyrion." Her thin fingers wrapped around his blunt ones, though. He pulled the hand closer, placing a kiss on the knuckles of her fingers. A gentle, long caress.

"You have every right to a good life, especially after the penance you have been given on behalf of my sister. I know my father and the queen would love to see me far from here. And nothing would give them more joy than to send me to the snowy lands of the North country. You will have to teach me how to keep warm," He held her hand still in his and she did not cower or pull away.

"I will," Her eyes dropped to her lap, however.

"Sansa, please, tell me what is troubling you."

"I cannot, my lord." Her voice was thick. Tyrion frowned.

"When you are ready do not hold your words back."

"I must go," She stood, her hand still held in his.

"I do not wish to keep you from your morning." Tyrion bowed his head. Sansa bent over, near his head. She smelled faintly of spiced wine still, and roses. _Damn roses_ , he cursed.

She leaned forward and he looked at her quizzically, her large blue eyes so close. She came even closer and placed a kiss on his unmarred cheek. It was quick and light, but she had done it of her own accord.

"Sansa," He looked up at her. But she pulled her hand away and quickly left the room. Tyrion found his hand pressed to the cheek, the skin tingling from the slight touch of her lips.

* * *


	12. Roses

"Sansa, you look absolutely wonderful this morning," Margaery smiled as she greeted the woman who had finally made her way through the members of the Tyrell court. The soon to be queen was quite breathtaking herself this morning dressed in a rich blue silk gown adorned with golden threaded swirls and roses, a belt pulling the dress taught against her curved waist.

"I am well," Sansa lied. In fact she felt dreadful. The lack of restful sleep left her exhausted, her stomach so queasy this morning she did not even wish to break her fast. She had taken to returning to the bedchambers she shared with Tyrion after she had visited her lord husband in the solar.

"How is living with your lord husband?" She asked, sitting up in the metal chair which sat under a canopy in the gardens. Sansa wondered if she would look as radiant upon the throne of swords as she did upon this silver chair. _She will not sit there, though. That chair is resigned for His Grace_.

"They are well," Sansa replied.

"I am assuming you are growing more...comfortable together." Margaery smiled wickedly. Sansa nodded her head, unable to speak. "Come, my beautiful wolf, come and sit next to me."

Sansa obeyed, taking the chair next to the bright eyed woman. "I am trying, my lady, I really am."

"I believe that you are, Sansa," Margaerey's smile was kind. "And I believe the gods will bless you."

"He has no children from the women he has-" Sansa did not wish to think of Tyrion in such a way. She pushed the idea of him being with a whore from her mind. _Why does it bother me so? It was never a secret_.

"Whores drink moon tea, therefore there is no true evidence." Margaery brushed the suggestion away. Her face brightened with a smile at her own though, however. "When you have your son, Sansa, you will be so happy."

"Yes, my lady," Sansa bowed her head. Margarey let out a light giggle, reaching forward to brush Sansa's hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear.

"When you have your son you will have Winterfell." Margaery assured her. "When you gain Winterfell, I ask that you think of the kindness I have given you."

"What do you mean?" Sansa asked.

"Remember that the Tyrells have done all that we could to give you a happy life after your mistreatment. We would have given you to Willas if the Lannisters did not interfere," She assured Sansa. "Just remember this, my beautiful girl."

"Why would I forget your kindness?" Sansa asked.

"When times are hard and wars sweep through the country, well, one never knows what can happen to a king. And loyalty in the realm can become such a fickle trait. Are men loyal?, yes. But to whom do they owe their loyalty when their side is losing?" Margaery's answer was nonchalant. She watched her court move about the garden when she said this, her blue eyes honest and alive.

"Are you going to kill the king?" Sansa whispered, trying not to keep her limbs from shaking.

"One never knows what can happen is all I am suggesting." Margaery shrugged her shoulders. "And we know that the Lannisters have failed in providing a steady reign since King Robert died."

"What you are suggesting is treason." Sansa's face was becoming cold as the blood flushed from her cheeks.

"I do not suggest treason. I simply am sure that one of Joffrey's enemies is sure to succeed over such a small king. Stannis is much more powerful than his nephew."

"But Lord Tywin will be able to hold him off, " Sansa shook her head.

"I did not say that Joffrey is going to purposefully die, or that danger is on the horizon for that matter," Margaery reached out and wrapped her hand around Sansa's wrist. "I am merely saying that his days are numbered. And we will need the North behind us to quell any further opposition."

 _She wishes me to use my name and my child when we get to Winterfell to help her uprising. To keep her as Queen_. Sansa realized. "They will merely marry you to Tommen."

"Perhaps," Margaery's smile was dark, her eyes did not smile with her lips. The expression was scaring Sansa. "But he is such a young boy. And he will need someone with wisdom to speak for him for the time being."

"Tyrion will not support this; it is his family you are thinking about overthrowing." Sansa shook her head. "He will speak through _my_ son."

"It was said that Lord Tywin was the mouthpiece of his wife Joanna. The dwarf is not so different from his father. And you have the thing the creature wants the most between your legs. And like a good girl, you are learning to use it." Margaery reasoned.

"He is not a creature. He…he has treated me kindly. He is not the monster that Joffrey is, he has been a good man." Sansa shook her head, strangely offended by the word used to describe her lord husband. "And I-"

"You must do it, Sansa, if you have any hopes of securing Winterfell in your son's name. Or another like Theon Greyjoy will slaughter your son just as your brothers were slaughtered."

Sansa's head dropped as she fought back tears once more. Why was Margaery suddenly so cruel to her, forcing her to draw lines before she even became pregnant. _Will I have so much power when I give birth?_ She supposed she did. _Can I have so much so to keep the North from the bloodshed of the South? I am sure the Houses of the North are as tired of this battle as I am._

"You just need to keep performing your duty, Sansa. You do not yet need to concern yourself with the matters of the crown."

"Of course," Sansa nodded her head. _But I will keep from the matters of the crown for as long as I can. My husband will be taught with the master between my legs to avoid the rulers of the South, so he will instruct my son in the same. I have my own mind, my lady_.

"I know you are a smart girl, Sansa. You know which side of the war you should remain on." Margaery's smile was sticky sweet, but it was as bitter and spoiled as fruit which was left to ripen for too long.

"I will serve the kingdom as well as I can, and according to what I see fit." Sansa found her mouth replying. She was not going to heir her freedom and future home to a war which did not need to be fought. "You can rule your husband with the power between your legs just as well, my lady. I am sure you will make Joffrey into the best mouthpiece yet. You have seemed to cause him to forget his cruelty." Sansa was standing, no longer wanting to be in Margaery's presence.

"Sansa," Margaerey's voice was tight and low with warning. "Where are you going, my dear?"

"I have some duties I must attend to for the afternoon," Sansa curtsied politely. "I apologize for my sudden departure."

"Do not fear me, Sansa." Margaery shifted in her chair. "I am not the one to fear. It is the lions among whose pit you have been thrown into which should cause you worry."

Sansa looked at the girl one last time before turning and leaving the presence of the Tyrells. It seemed that she was held back from alliances because of her namesake. Too many were focused on what she could give them and no longer concerned with what she needed. Sansa bit her cheek as she walked with long strides and a straight back in a return to her bedchambers. She was feeling quite ill again and she decided it might be best for her to lie down.


	13. Unexpected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is another..ahem..mature chapter. So if you're going to proceed- as always- be mature about it :) Sorry if this is horrendous and I am SUPER nervous about this chapter, but I have kind critics in my readers. Thank you all for your support and words. -Lydia

Tyrion returned to his bedchamber with a headache from the small words in the various books and scrolls he searched through for answers. He had missed the evening meal, leaving Sansa alone at the table. And he was finding his stomach to be quite tight with hunger pangs. He could send Pod for some food in the kitchens as he settled down to open another book.

 _I should not have left Sansa to her own this evening._ He thought. _It was not fair, since she came to me and thanked me for my kindness. A kindness which I show only because she is my wife_. He mocked himself. But it was a lie. In the back of his mind, though it was pounding and aching, he knew that Shae's face was slowly being replaced by the blue eyes and auburn tresses of Sansa Stark. She was always on his mind in one place or another, consuming him slowly. _But she can never love me the way I could love her._

He opened the door to the chamber loudly, the metal only causing his mind to wince at the sound. He needed some wine, that would settle the hurt. He entered the quarters expecting to find Shae and Sansa, perhaps even Pod in search for his lord to serve, but only Sansa was in the room. She was laid out on the bed, her chest rising and falling in even rhythm. He began to wonder how late it was in the evening for her to be in such a sound state of sleep. Tyrion was sure to take small steps, careful to make as little noise as possible.

But she was already stirring, her body rising from the sunken mattress of the bed. Her auburn hair was falling out of the half braid which her handmaiden had done for her that morning. The dress she was wearing earlier was shed and she was clad only in a shift, her hair tumbling over her shoulders. She rose slowly at first, but hastened when she saw that it was he who had returned.

"Tyrion," She stood at the side of the bed. "I apolo-I mean, I did not mean to fall asleep." She was flushed from her cheeks to the bit of her breastbone that he could see.

"If you are tired, my lady, rest."Tyrion insisted as he placed the book back on the stack.

"I do not wish to sleep just yet, my lord." She said.

Tyrion shrugged his shoulders and then took the wine jar which sat on the table from dinner. He noticed that a slab of bread with butter sat on a plate along with some pease. Placing the wine jar down in a more desperate want for food he took the slice greedily in his hand, taking a large bite. Sansa had joined him near the table, pouring him a cup of wine. She offered it to him cautiously. He took it from her, chasing the bread with the drink. "Thank you, Sansa."

Sansa smiled down at him softly. "I told Pod to save you some food, I trusted you did not want to be bothered in your reading. I had already caused enough of a distraction this afternoon."

She used the word innocently, but Tyrion could see the swell of her breasts under her shift and it was no longer so innocent. He licked his lips. "A distraction I will always welcome."

He finished his bread hurriedly, his stomach unable to wait for him to take his time. He took another draught of wine. Sansa had not moved away from him, did not sit in the chair a few paces away which he found curiously odd; his wife was more apt to avoid his presence. "Do you want for something?" He asked her.

She sank to one of her knees in front of him and did not have the wide look of fright which she often had. Tyrion took another drink, but as he lowered his cup she took it and placed it on the table. He swallowed as he watched her blue eyes look over his face. She always stayed a bit longer on the parts of his face marred by the scar. Tyrion opened his mouth to say something further, but was silenced when her mouth came down over his. He was taken aback by the kiss, instinctively reaching out and grabbing hold of her face. She placed her hands on his arms, leaning forward to kiss him better.

It was strange to him at first that she had kissed him so suddenly, but he damned the thought and accepted that his beautiful lady wife was kissing him without his ask. Her lips were soft and her kisses were messy and unsure. Kissing her was so different from kissing all the whores he had taken pleasure from. She was so- innocent. She did not know how to kiss like those women did; she was not a master of her tongue or a lip biter. But oh, he could teach her. He took her lower lip between his teeth and tugged gently. She shied at first, but soon kissed him harder.

"Sansa," He interrupted one of their kisses. "I am sure you would rather do this on a surface other than the floor."

She flushed pink and nodded her head. As she turned Tyrion quickly untied his trousers, loosing his hardening cock from its prison. He wrestled his doublet from his torso and then pulled his shirt from his head as he watched her return to the bed. He wished he could take her clothes from her, trailing kisses down her back as he did so, but he was only further reminded of the things he could not provide her. The thought did not remain long as she removed the slip from her head and he glimpsed the curve of her buttocks, pale and pink in the light.

He realized in the moment that most of the candles were awake, yet she did not seem to rush to extinguish them. "I can dim the candles,"

"No, it has been so dark in here for most of the day," She stopped him. Tyrion almost paused in his journey to the bed, but his cock was screaming for her soft, warm body. He quickly joined Sansa on the mattress, placing a wet kiss on her neck. She closed her eyes as she lay back.

He tried not to think of her imagining someone else, but if it was what made her happy, then he was not going to keep her from that. So he focused on kissing down her neck into her shoulder. He gently pushed her over to her tummy, kissing the curve between the bones beneath her shoulders. She kept her body pressed to the bed as he made his way down her back, kissing and nibbling and sending shudders up her spine. He smiled at himself in the process, noting that his headache was gone.

When he made his way to her rear, she parted her legs without command and he dove into her, not being able to wait anymore. He let out a nasally groan as his cock slid into the slit between her legs. She did not tense as she did the first couple times, remaining calm as he pushed into her, and rocked out. He pulled at her hips, angling her pert cheeks upward, causing him to kneel. He went in and out of her gently. He was yearning for this since the last time they were together and did not want to lose all control. She was so warm and tight that it took all his strength not to. He reached down and searched for the little hill that was beneath his thrusting member. He found it and began to massage it gently, she cried out a little.

"Shhh, Sansa." He placed a kiss on the dip between her hipbones, taking his hand for a moment away from her little mound. She was beginning to breath heavily regardless. He smiled as he guessed he was hitting her sweet spot at just the right angle. So he took deeper, heavier thrusts. It was taxing on him and he knew he was going to end soon enough.

To his surprise she was crying out first, her walls shuddering around his cock. He only lasted a few thrusts afterwards, fighting the instinct he had to pull from her and let his seed spill on the bed. With Sansa he was learning to press into her, she wanted it filling her and he was glad to give.

She rolled over when he pulled from her, watching him between her legs. He smiled down at her, his breath coming back. Sansa sat upright and kissed him again.

"You have become a rather wanton, my wolf lady," He muttered in the kiss.

"I have realized that perhaps a hand in Winterfell can stop the war from continuing." She still sat before him, he still kneeling between her legs.

"What has someone sung to you now?" He kissed the side of her mouth tenderly. She did not respond in the same kind.

"I have been asked to pledge allegiances as soon as I am with child." She responded vaguely. "Allegiances that will further divide the realm and not cease war."

"I will be sure to tell which ever alliances you have that you will not just give your support without your lord husband." He kissed her again, this time she responded half heartedly.

"You cannot fight my battles," Sansa looked away from him, but her arms wrapped around his neck.

"I hope to join you in them," He pressed his scarred face against her smooth, pale cheek as she turned her head to look away. He kissed her skin gently, his hand finding her breasts below him.

"It does not matter if we do not have a child," Sansa muttered. He assumed that thought was meant to remain internal. He kissed her neck.

"Well, we should make that our first priority." He sunk lower, his mouth finding one of her breasts. His hand found the small nub between her legs. Her body was wet with her juices and his seed, so she cried out as soon as he touched her in the area. "But if you want to keep your little secret, Sansa, you should not cry out so harshly."

She let go of him with her arms and leaned back, bracing herself on her arms. She was enjoying his touch and he was willing to give it. He loved her smell, she was fresh and spicy in her scent. His thumb took over for the work of his two forefingers. She was squirming beneath him, unable to contain her eruption. She was soon over the edge, and he could hear his name release from her lips in an exhale as she tried to stay silent. The sound made him harder as his cock awoke.

"Once more, my lady?" He asked her, fully intending to stop if she wanted to be far from him.

She responded by opening her legs. Tyrion's smile was greedy as he plunged into her once again, this time he was able to play with her breasts as he thrusted. Her tits were soft under his touch and sweet to his taste. He enjoyed playing with the hard tips with his tongue. Sansa seemed to take pleasure in it as well; she moaned as he took her left tit in his mouth. He sucked as hard as he pushed into her. Sansa's legs were coming about his hips, wrapping him closer. She was so gone in her fantasies. Tyrion took to the other tit.

Before long he was climaxing into her, pushing his hips into her thighs. When he was done he took to her small hill again and had her calling her name much louder than either wanted. She was red in the face from the outcry and he was uncertain of what to do with the scream.

She sat upright. "I tried to keep it inside," She shook.

"It is beautiful to hear my name upon your lips." He responded, leaning forward to kiss her, trying to comfort her in her embarrassment. She kissed back, but then lay back once more on the bed. Tyrion realized he was still up to the hilt inside of her and he pulled his cock from her warm depths. A dribble of his seed fell from her. _Such a waste_. He thought.

He rose to find his trousers once more, pulling them over his stunted legs and softened manhood. He then went in search for his shirt, leaving the doublet on the floor. It was his intention to return to reading, trying to forget how naked she was on the bed.

"Tyrion," She called. He turned to look at her. She sat up in the bed. "Please don't leave me tonight."

Tyrion almost fell over, but nodded his head, dumbfounded, instead. "Of course, Sansa."

He returned to her bare body, coming to her side. She leaned forward and kissed him once more. Sansa then lay back, twisting onto her left side to face him. He lay on his right, their foreheads nearly touching, and stroked her hair as she drifted off to sleep.


	14. Sigils

Sansa found that it became much easier to strip her clothes from her body and lay back for her husband as the days slipped by. She occupied her time with needle and thread and days sitting by the window, her evenings spent in the godswood or the sept. She could do nothing more than pray for her fate: that she would become pregnant; that Lord Petyr would keep his promise; that she would one day return to Winterfell. And occasionally she found herself praying for her lord husband and his own strength and protection. Usually it was when she allowed her mind to wander in her prayers, and she always tried to pull herself back. She told herself it was solely because he was the only true company she kept. Even Lady Margaery had grown distant as the day of her wedding drew closer.

The only time Sansa was not focused on her task of preparing herself to leave and her broken heart over the ruins of Winterfell was when she was intimate with Tyrion. Lady Margaery had not lied- he knew exactly what he was doing and he was able to make her body sing in one way or another. Sometimes he could do it just with his man staff, sometimes she would find his hand creeping down the curve of her belly. And when her body shivered with pleasure and her mind flooded with ecstasy, she was right there in the moment. Westeros became much smaller, only she and her husband. When she awoke the next morning she would feel a moment of shame as she realized she was taking joy and comfort in a member of the family she was supposed to hate. A family which had held her captive, had bound her by marriage. Yet she found that she could never truly hate him, even though she tried.

Sometimes, like this morning, she even found that she missed his presence in her lonely days. He had left earlier that morning to greet some of the royal guests arriving for the Royal Wedding. He had mentioned the Prince of Dorne to Podrick the night before as the squire waited with Shae while Sansa and Tyrion had dined. Sansa was losing track of all the Houses and the people of the Seven Kingdoms, but she realized lately it was because she did not care. Nothing existed outside of her mind than Winterfell. She knew that it had been burned, and Tyrion had gently assured her that indeed it was Theon Greyjoy who had torn asunder the walls and burned her baby brothers. She hardly believed Tyrion when he told her it was Theon's fault, the young boy she had watched grow up besides Jon and Robb. But she supposed she always saw the jealousy that lay behind his eyes whenever he chased after the two. _I understand now what it means to be a prisoner, even if one is not bound by chains_.

Shae had come to her chambers a bit late that morning, but Sansa had not risen before her entrance. She found her limbs weighted with exhaustion, her mind clouded and unclear. She wanted to remain within the sheets of the bed, her body nestled in the downy mattress. Shae helped her from the bed, leading her to the vanity to begin the morning by brushing out her hair.

Sansa looked at her reflection in the mirror, her skin glowing in the morning light which streamed through the window; Shae had opened the curtains to let in the sunshine.

"M'lady has awoken late this morning," Shae looked down at Sansa through the corner of her eye.

"I have been tired lately," Sansa ran her fingers through her reddish locks. Tyrion had brushed her hair with his fingers the night before as he held her. She had forgotten for so long what it was like to be brought close to someone, to hear a heartbeat; he was an addiction she had acquired, and surely it was to prove dangerous.

"Are you falling ill, m' lady?" Shae pulled at Sansa's hair as she brushed it out.

"I certainly hope not," Sansa forced herself to smile.

"Are you excited for the wedding?"Shae asked as she pulled the brush through Sansa's red brown hair.

"I suppose I am," Sansa replied. It was not a true lie, it was her chance to escape King's Landing once and for all. _I do not feel as if I am ready to go._

"It will be beautiful, m'lady, I imagine. Hundreds of people wearing their finest. Of course I will see them," Shae pulled her hair a little harder than normally.

"I am not sure you will be there for the feast," Sansa apologized gently. "I believe the servants are uninvited, except for a select few."

"What a shame, m'lady," Shae pulled her hair a little harder.

"Ow, Shae, you are hurting me," Sansa pulled away from her hands, grabbing the back of her hair. "Are you well today?"

"I am, m'lady," Shae's voice was unyielding, unemotional. Sansa sighed. "Shall I dress you to lay around your chambers for the day?"

"Dress me as if I were to be normally dressed," Sansa responded. Shae was being cruel to her for no reason.

"Of course, m'lady." Shae responded and went to fetch her a dress. Sansa went back to looking in the mirror. Something was amiss; she seemed a bit ruddier in the cheeks. Maybe it was from all the time she spent seeking solace in her sheets.

Shae returned with a crimson red gown for Sansa to wear. Sansa stood and raised her arms, her handmaiden pulling the dress over her head. She was still rough as she pulled the dress over Sansa's shoulders. "I am sorry you cannot go with me to the feast, Shae. You have been a good handmaiden and I appreciate your hard work. But please stop the torments." She cried out.

"I am sorry, m'lady," Shae apologized once more.

The door opened and Tyrion entered followed by Podrick and Bronn. Sansa turned to see the three enter as Shae finished tying her gown.

"I suspect we haven't interrupted anything, m'lady," Bronn tipped his head toward her. Sansa smiled at him. She had come to know the seemingly rough sellsword over the past couple weeks as he was her constant shadow, Tyrion afraid to leave her alone for too long.

Podrick greeted her by starring at his feet and turning a brilliant shade of Lannister red. He froze as Bronn and Tyrion made their way into the chambers.

"It is good to see you dressed, my lady. I had come to fear you would be sleeping all the time." Tyrion was brusque in his greeting, but a hidden smile showed his jape.

"I am sorry, my lord, I was rather tired this morning and I-" She stopped. _No more apologizing, he does not think you guilty._

"Nonetheless, you are awake now. I trust you slept well."

"Is there something you require from me, my lord?" Sansa asked as she smoothed out the skirt of her dress, flattening imaginary wrinkles.

"Just to inform you that the castle is now filled with more people than it should hold." Tyrion grumbled as he waddled over to the table. He sat down, resting his arm on the wood, looking back to her.

"Certainly the castle can hold all the houses of Westeros," Sansa said. She could tell he was on edge.

"Ones that are certainly ready to slaughter one another in their sleep?- I fear not, Sansa." Tyrion replied.

"This seems like the place to start a war," Bronn interrupted, a chuckle leaking over his lips.

Tyrion glared at his sellsword from under his prominent brow, his green eyes warm with anger. Sansa cleared her throat. "I would think that we will be expected in court soon to greet the visitors."

Tyrion looked up at her, a smile dancing across his lips. "Perceptive, my wife; nothing is as amusing as seeing Joffrey fumbling about trying to remain humble under the hand of my father."

Sansa's bowels quivered. She could understand even Joffrey's fear of the Lannister patriarch. He was most assuredly terrifying, and she knew that every threat he made would come true; his chastising was worse than death, she assumed.

"Unless you would prefer not to attend," Tyrion's eyebrows raised as he looked over to her.

"It would be the proper gesture, Tyrion." She looked back into the mirror as Shae finished pulling her hair into an intricate braid.

"My ever so courteous wife," He said. She looked out of the corner of her eye to watch him push himself from the seat. "If you insist that it would be the polite action, I must obey my lady." He winked at her quickly. Sansa's lips stretched into a smile as she looked down.

"You look beautiful this morning, m'lady." Shae's hand squeezed her shoulder gently, whatever grief she harbored early now gone.

"Your handmaiden is correct, Sansa," Tyrion replied, sincerity in his compliment. Sansa blushed, but could not find a way to gracefully take the praise.

"I know I cannot take you to the wedding, Shae, but you can at the very least see the court," Sansa offered. Shae's smile was not as large as Sansa had hoped for, but civility between the two had returned.

"You heard the lady, Poderick. You can keep practicing your memory when we gather them all together and pray to the gods that we are not plagued with another war." Tyrion commanded his squire. "You might as well come along _Ser_ Bronn."

"Why, so you can have your own personal guard from all the people who might want to kill you?" Bronn replied sarcastically.

"How much do I have to pay you to stop your commentary?" Tyrion responded. Sansa approached her lord husband and followed him out into the hall, her hands clutched in front of her.

Tyrion led Sansa into the Great Hall; she followed behind him dutifully. The expansive room was already crowded with the lord and ladies filling the castle in anticipation for the wedding and was only exacerbated by the presence of the Prince of Dorne and his guests. Tyrion made his way around the crowd to stand closer to the right hand side of the dais. Joffrey was sitting on the metal throne, his mother sat at his left. Tyrion's own father sat to the right; he sat stiffly, not looking about or interacting with the young king, as Cersei was trying to. Tyrion noticed that Margaery was sitting to the left of Cersei. The young woman had her hands folder upon her lap and sat docile.

He sensed Sansa join him, standing at his left hand side. Poderick and Shae followed closely behind. Bronn had wandered off on his own, for all the good he was. Tyrion looked up at Sansa. Her hands were still folded before her body, her blue eyes sweeping over the mass of people gathered in a crowd around the throne. Her hair was kissed by the sun and the edges lifted by the draft from the open door. She was certainly a beautiful sight. _She should be where Margaery sits._

Sansa looked down at him; she must have sensed that he was staring. She offered him a small smile, and he noticed that her hands were being rung together. She was nervous. But of course she was, she was still of the blood of the "traitors of the North". Tyrion reached toward her and took one of her hands gently, pulling it toward him and rubbing his short thumb over the satiny skin of the back of her hand. Sansa leaned forward.

"Which is the prince, my lord?" She whispered gently.

"The reigning prince thought it better to not appear at the wedding for safety's sake," Tyrion spoke softly. "He sent his brother in his stead. The man before the throne now, followed by the royal standard bearing the sunspear."

"House Martell, am I mistaken?" Sansa asked. Tyrion smiled up at his clever wife.

Perhaps he had best play the sigil game with her. After all, a lady of her future standing should be educated and polished on such knowledge. _She was so young, her Septa taken from her before she learned all she could_. Tyrion brought her hand to his lips, placing a delicate kiss on the back of her hand.

"You are correct, Sansa." He replied. "Do you recognize any of the other eight standards?"

"Just the Blackmont sigil; the vulture grasping the baby." She shuddered at the image.

"You are a smarter girl than you let on," Tyrion smiled with pride.

"I am afraid that I have lost much of the knowledge my septa tried to educate me about," Sansa frowned. "Will you…will you teach me, Tyrion?"

 _My lady, my joy is teaching you._ "Of course, my lady. I would be honored."

Sansa stood to her full height and walked toward the furthest right corner of the room. Tyrion looked after her, puzzled, but followed nonetheless. When he reached the destination, he knew why. Turning he could see all the banners from his height spread out before him. He went to look up to Sansa, but found that she had sunk to her knees at his side. He immediately felt shame; his wife was ruining her dress to be able to hear him whisper in her ear.

"They will announce the houses, my lady," He assured her. "You can just lean over if you have a question."

"I will not hear them properly, with so many people and being so far. I wish to learn the names." Sansa's blue eyes pleaded with him. Tyrion sighed, but complied.

"Where do you wish to start?" He asked her.

"I know House Martell of Sunspear. Their standard gives them away. As well as Blackmont of Blackmont. Another easy to recall." She said. She squinted as she looked at the banners in a row before them. She was trying to remember, he could see it in the steady movement of her eyes. "The purple banner, with the lemons, I know they are from Lemonwood, but I do not remember the house."

"House Dalt." Tyrion answered her.

"The golden feather on the green checks?" Sansa leaned toward him. He watched her, but she did not notice, her concentration completely devoted to the banners.

"A quill," Tyrion corrected her. "representing House Jordayne of the Tor." He watched her lips move, repeating what he said.

"The crowned skull?"

"House Manwoody of Kingsgrave."

"The flames,"

"Hellholt, where presides House Uller."

"The cockatrice?"

"House Gargalen of Salt Shore."

"And the pie with the hand beside it?"

"House of Allyrion of Godsgrace."

"And the last—the one with the strange creatures." Sansa looked over to him.

"They are scorpions, Sansa. Three of them on red represent House Qorgyle of Sandstone." She was so close, her chin nearly hovering over his shoulder. She did not recoil when he reached out to touch her face.

"You are the more cleverer than I, my lord." Sansa assured him.

"Wits last longer than strength, and strength was not a gift given to me, clearly." Tyrion answered her.

Sansa leaned forward and placed a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you, for your knowledge and your patience." She stood before he could answer.

"We should rejoin our servants before anyone sees and starts rumors that we may actually be smitten." He japed. Sansa let out a quiet halfhearted laugh, but she did not readily agree with him. Even Tyrion had to admit that perhaps the suggestion was not so strange as it first appeared.

"Of course, my lord." Sansa replied, her hands folding before her hips again.

Tyrion looked over the curve of her hips and prayed that she would be able to invent the royal standard of a wolf and lion bound in watch together. The only time Tyrion prayed was for her happiness. And with her being so silent over the past few days, he found himself speaking the gods more increasingly. Something was amiss with his clever wife and she would not confide in him what was troubling her.

But he had conquered her outer wall. He could do nothing now but wait for her to let him in.


	15. Advice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some book spoilers very loosely mentioned in this chapter so just be warned :) Reviews and critiques are always welcomed- Lydia

Sansa found that there was a hardly a time when all was quiet with the increasing number of guests coming as each day of the wedding drew closer. She was used to her days in the room or the garden remaining silent, with perhaps the rustle of the wind through the trees. Joffrey's wedding—no, it was _Margaery's_ wedding which did this. The people would not have gathered for the wicked boy. But Margaery was their goddess descended upon them.

Sansa knew the real truth.

Margaery wanted her name as badly as the Lannisters. She wanted Sansa to swear to wars that she did not want to fight. Sansa was being asked to commit to a treaty before she was even with child. Before Winterfell was regained from House Bolton who had taken over the crumbling walls as the Starks died off one by one.

So when Sansa looked out in the courtyard and saw Margaery surrounded by a crowd of people, she could only feel her stomach flop. The bile washed about her tummy, and she felt ill. It was the lies which made Sansa sick, it could be nothing else. She had little in her breaking of fast, which Tyrion had joined her in, and she worried him with the little she ate.

Perhaps it was the coming events which also worried Sansa's tummy. She would soon be heading over the Blackwaters with Ser Dontos and brought to the safety of whomever Lord Petyr had arranged. She would escape the commands of Tywin and Margaery, the glares from Cersei and Joffrey. And she would leave Tyrion.

She found herself saddened by the prospect. She could not deny that she had come to value his companionship, it made her days less lonely and long. And he was so kind to her, she could trust her physical safety to him. But she could not trust that he would surely give her the reign in Winterfell until their son came of age. He would strip her of power, right?

Sansa came to recognize that she was pacing the floor. Her head was spinning and her stomach twirling below her racing heart. She wobbled over to the window seat, resting her head on the wall behind her. She take in a deep breath, the air calming her tummy. She pulled her knees into her chest and placed her head on the ends.

"Good afternoon, m'lady," Shae greeted her with a familiar thick accent as she entered the room. Sansa looked up from her knees to see her handmaiden bustling into the room,

"Good afternoon, Shae."

"Are you well, m'lady. Many of the lords and ladies are gathered in the yard." Shae was carrying bed coverings in her arms.

"I am not well, Shae. I do not wish to mingle with them this afternoon." Sansa asked, trying to mask her irritation at her handmaiden's nosiness.

"Has your moon's blood come upon you?" Shae asked. She placed the sheets on the bed and went to stripping the mattress.

"Not yet," Sansa looked over at Shae, realization flooding her body. "A month has already passed?"

"I am sure; m'lady would not have noticed because of her surprising marriage." Shae answered.

"Yes, it was rather hasty and unexpected," Sansa replied absently. She was thinking, counting the days since her last bleed.

"I am sure it will be here soon. Since you are so unwell, m'lady." Shae concluded. Sansa nodded her head, again removed from the present. "M'lady?"

"Right, I am sure it will." Sansa offered her a smile. "Everything has just been so rushed as the kingdom prepares for His Grace's wedding."  
"I am sorry, m'lady, that you were not given the chance to rule by a fair king's side. I believe you would have made a very beautiful queen."

"Thank you," Sansa said. She looked over at the older woman who was folding the sheets under her bed. She was still considering the absence of her moon's blood. Surely she was due any day; though, further prayers to the gods would do no harm.

Shae and Sansa remained unspeaking as the handmaiden made up the bed, taking the used linens with her. "I will return in a moment to brush your hair, perhaps that will make you feel better."

Sansa nodded her head in agreement. _Could it be possible?_ She straightened her legs in front of her, placing a hand on her belly. Could she truly be carrying her future salvation? Sansa closed her eyes, fighting back the tears which burned the back of her throat. She took a deep shaky breath, but this time the tears were not bitter with sadness, they were her brimming joy. Shae could not see or she would ask questions. And she knew Sansa too well to know when she was lying. Sansa rose and went to sit at the vanity.

 _It is still too early to be sure_ , Sansa scolded herself as she looked in the mirror. She reached forward to brush the tips of her fingers over the dress of the doll before her. And she pondered a new question—if she was with child would she tell Tyrion? Such news would most certainly ruin her plans; she would have to stay with him if he knew. She would never be out of his sight, she would not be able to meet her guide out of King's Landing.

"Sansa?" Shae asked her. Sansa realized that her handmaiden was standing behind her, a hand resting on the girl's shoulder. "Perhaps you are unwell?"

"I am just thinking about all the things which must happen before the wedding. And the day of, no doubt. The feast which I must prepare myself for, the gown which Cersei has given me. Everything must be perfect."

"You are not the one who is getting married, m'lady. You have a husband already." Shae firmly stated. Sansa was glad of this truth, but she knew that Shae meant for her words to wound. Sansa looked into her lap, unsure as to why her handmaiden had gone from civil to cruel. Had she said something insensitive?

"You are right, but it is the royal wedding. And everything and everyone must be looking at their best. As it should be for any wedding." Sansa defended her answer. She saw Shae raise her shoulders and then drop them in the reflection of the mirror.

"Of course," Shae said. She reached forward to take hold of Sansa's brush, pulling the girl's hair from its half braid.

"Did you enjoy the presentation in the court yesterday, Shae?" Sansa asked trying to fill the painful silence between the two.

"Yes, it was rather beautiful." Shae answered. "All the men in their elegant clothes. It made me feel like a real lady in that room."

"It was rather astonishing, wasn't it? I have not seen such a parade since my young days at Winterfell. I think the last time we greeted our guests was when we were welcoming King Robert, the seven rest his soul, to our home." Sansa ran her finger though a lock of hair which Shae had already brushed.

"A lovely welcome, I am assured." Shae seemed uninterested in the story.

"It was," Sansa continued. "Something I never thought could lead to so much trouble."

"The past is easy to predict," Shae still seemed unconcerned with Sansa's history.

"I suppose—I suppose it is." Sansa's chin dropped, she returned to looking at her hands.

"Ghosts only haunt us when we give them power." Shae's brushing became more aggressive. "So we should not give it to them."

"Have you lost anyone, Shae?" Sansa asked. "A loved one, someone who was family, or, at the very least, like family?" Sansa's cheeks burned red when she realized the intrusion she was making on her handmaiden's past. "I am sorry for my prying, you do not need to answer my silly question." Sansa placed a hand over her mouth.

Shae looked at her through the mirror as she pulled some of Sansa's hair upward, brushing through imaginary tangles. "I do not love anyone enough to let their ghosts hurt me."

"But surely there must be someone who you love. Perhaps even now?' Sansa wanted to hear about romance, she wanted to hear about loving and being loved. About choosing the person you would spend the days of your life with. The tales which she had lived for just a short year or so before.

"I do not love anyone, m'lady." Shae's reply was blunt. Sansa sighed.

"There has to be someone you loved once," Sansa played with her fingers. "I loved King Joffrey once. The foolish, stupid little girl I was loved a boy who would murder and hurt and torment. I am the cause of much of this war."

"We are all allowed our stupid fancies when we are girls, m'lady." Shae said. "And your fancy for His Grace was not the cause of this war. It is the men and their jealous cocks which start wars, always trying to outdo one another in a contest—who is the biggest, who can fuck the hardest. The problem is the people who are fucked often do not wish to be."

Sansa was unsure of how to answer Shae's explanation of the cause of war. She had never heard a woman speak so bluntly; even Margaery who was no virgin, or that was what Tyrion told her he suspected when they were laying in bed together one night.

"I have spoken boldly, m'lady. And I am sorry if I have ruined your delicate charms, but it is a fact which you should learn to become acquainted with."

"Surely not all men are beastly. Some can be gently and kind." Sansa was thinking of Tyrion when she said this.

"Until they do not get what they want, or sometimes it is _because_ they got what they wanted. Take my heed, Sansa, as I am woman who knows men intimately." She finished brushing Sansa's hair, placing the comb on the table. Sansa felt the tugs of Shae's fingers rebraiding her hair.

"My brother Robb was kind. My father was kind."

"In appearances. Sansa, take my advice, do not give your love to anyone. Keep it locked in your heart and you will find that you can never be hurt." Shae said. She dropped her hands to her sides when she had finished with Sansa's hair. "Is there anything more that you need of me, m'lady?"

"That will be all, Shae." Sansa dismissed her handmaiden.

It was impossible. Surely Shae could not be serious in her advice giving. Sansa knew that love hurt, wounding in ways one could never suppose. But love brought a peace and joy which could never be found with safety. Sansa was sure that in the right moments, the ache of love was better than the security of solitude.


	16. Forgotten

Tyrion was nestled away in his solar, escaping the crowded and tense atmosphere of the castle, when Shae came to him. At first he thought it was Sansa paying him another visit, something he had hoped for since she first came to thank him. So when the door opened without a knock, he turned his head with a smile.

It was not his auburn tressled wife which entered, but the dark haired beauty. A woman he had not paid a visit to in many days. And he could tell that this prospect angered her as it was written in the lines on her face.

"What are you doing here?" Tyrion cried out as soon as he registered who was coming to him.

"I have not seen you, my giant," Shae crooned as she made his way over to him. Tyrion's heart raced in panic.

"We are in a where we could be caught together in the midst of a crowded wedding, why have you risked—" He was silenced by her mouth grabbing his, her fingers pinching his cheek.

"This excites you, does it not?" Shae asked after she finished kissing him. Her mouth was foreign to his. How long had he forgotten her and drenched himself in the kisses of his young wife?

"Uh, yes." Tyrion cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

Shae had dropped to her knees and was undoing the ties of his breeches. The act made Tyrion anxious, so much so he nearly pulled away. She had freed his cock, however, and was kissing it gently reminding him of why he had loved her. He could only lean back and sigh in pleasure. She then took to placing it in her mouth, exciting him with her tongue. He was jerking from her ministrations soon after. She stood before him in pride, moving to sit on his lap. She shifted her dress so that he could sense the warm, damp sex between her legs with his cock.

"You must be so busy with your work, I have not been with you in so long." She purred into his ear. "Is that lady of yours keeping you away with her crying?" She kissed his cheek.

"Sansa? No, she has been rather…quiet as of late." Tyrion's voice hitched as she rubbed her sex over his lap, pushing along his manhood.

"I am sure you need this…release, then." Shae's breath was hot on the tip of his ear. He shuddered and tried to push her away again.

"Shae, you really should not be here. Anyone could walk in and see what is going on. And then you will have yourself killed. Is that your desire?" Tyrion could feel his cock hardening once again.

"My desire is you, my giant," She leaned forward and whispered, "And I can tell your desire is me."

He could not deny her any longer. Before long he was entering her and his hips pushing into hers. She was circle hers around him, letting out sighs and gasps of ecstasy. Tyrion found that this excited him more than he wanted to admit. He began to push harder, and she encouraged him with small, controlled moans.

She knew what she was doing. Fully versed in the art of whoring, Shae was moving her own body in ways that he had not felt or experienced for awhile. She was kissing him as she moved her own hips up and down, circle side to side. She was whispering his name in his ear, her messy kisses trailing along the unmarred cheek of his face. He could not hold much longer before he was releasing inside of her, falling back on the chair with exhaustion. She smiled down at him, leaning forward to place a kiss on his lips.

"I am sure that you have missed being in the arms of a woman," Shae responded. "Though, if you were fucking your child wife she could not complete you…not like I can. I know how to pleasure you, Tyrion. Do not forget me." She said. She slid off his lap and reached down to tuck his cock back into is breeches, tying them tightly.

"Shae—I did not mean to forget you." He looked into her dark eyes.

They were warm, large mirrors he could see himself in, the ugly little man with the scars which marked his face. Usually he could see past that, see into her. But there was something missing, an emotion he was hoping to find. And then he realized that she herself had not reached her climax, though he did not ultimately care about her pleasure. He realized this with a certain sadness. But Shae did not need the comfort or reassurance that Sansa needed. She knew who she was and she knew she was good in the sheets. She could please any man with any part of her body. _She is a whore_. Tyrion reminded himself.

"Please do not do it again, my giant." She leaned over and kissed him. "I missed you. Seeing you talk and walk with Sansa and me not being able to say anything- I could only watch and long after you. Surely you did the same for me."

"Of course," Tyrion lied. He had not thought of Shae. He had not thought about her presence in the castle. Though he continued to pay her. He glanced down until her fingers pinched his cheeks again, forcing him to look at her.

"You aren't fucking your wife, are you?" Shae asked as she looked down upon him.

"What?" Tyrion asked, surprise widening his eyes.

"You aren't fucking your wife? Or why else would you have forgotten about me so long?" Shae's fingers danced along his jaw line. Tyrion shuddered against the touch.

"No, I have just been very busy and I realize that Sansa has many needs that she needs you to attend also—"

"She sends me away early every night. I brush the child's hair and I dress her up like a doll. There is time to visit me. Or to have you sent to me. Varys would gladly arrange it if we asked." Shae reasoned with him.

"I do not want Varys involved in my life anymore than he needs be." Tyrion scoffed at the idea, one which he normally would have accepted without question.

"So then come and visit me and let me give you what your wife will not." Shae said. "Tell me about her annoying habits and whine to me about how she will not give up her maidenhead."

"I will not, Sansa does not need cruel words from me." Tyrion snapped at her.

"You really do love that child, don't you?" Shae's accent thickened as her temper quickened.

"I have a certain fondness for her since she is always at my side, yes." Tyrion looked away from Shae.

"You are lying to me." Shae grabbed his cheeks again, this time using force to get him to look at her. "You are lying to me. You love her. And you _are_ fucking her." Shae turned with anger, but when she took several steps away her body released the tension. She stood calmly, looking back at him with dark eyes.

"Shae, please, I promise that I do love you—" Tyrion reached for her.

"Remember, Tyrion, that I know how to make you more happy than that little girl ever will. You fulfill your sick fantasies, and when your cock has grown tired of her uselessness, I am here."

"Aren't you angry?" Tyrion asked, confused at Shae's acceptance of the situation.

"I am furious," She replied. "But there is nothing I can do about the situation. You did marry her after all."

"I did—but why the sudden change of heart?" Tyrion asked. "Weeks ago you were blaming me for the whole marriage and insisting that I was saving the wrong woman."

"I was reminded by someone very important that I do not need saving," Shae replied mysteriously. "And I cannot fight an ordained marriage. Though, perhaps I can ruin it."

"And who is your special friend?" Tyrion inquired.

"Oh, someone who is helping me settle into my job as Sansa's handmaiden. I have so much left to learn about this castle and the people in it." Shae smiled at him teasingl y job as Sansa's handmaiden. I have so much left to learn about this castle and the y. She then turned and left the solar as abruptly as she came.

Tyrion stared after her presence for a time. He knew of two things for sure—Shae was most definitely not angry with him, he had seen her before. And she was lying about this other person she was with.

But what could Tyrion do? She was a whore and he could not change that about her. Not anymore than she could change that he was a married lord.

She was wrong about one thing, however; there was something about Sansa's inexperience and innocence which Tyrion found more satisfying than any of the tricks and movements Shae could perform. Perhaps this was something he needed to spend more time dwelling on. After the wedding, that is. For now he needed to milk some coins from thin air in order to pay for the extravagance waiting to take place in a few days time.


	17. Decisions

Sansa had wondered outside the dark quarters she had become accustomed to over the long weeks since her marriage. She had tried to hide from the truth that she was truly among the Lannisters, now. Especially after the slaughter of Robb and her mother. The memory still caused Sansa's heart to throb in sorrow; the event itself seemed like a dream age ago. Distant, but still so closely in the past. Sansa's tears still became her companions in the midafternoons when she was alone, the room empty and still, the ghosts came and haunted her.

So she needed to escape their presence. A venture into the gardens, perhaps a walk along the docks would liven her moods. She had so much on her mind and airing the swirling emotions in her head out into the soft winds had proved effective in the past. She dressed in a simple greyish purple silk gown, its bodice lined with golden thread.

Sansa did not take Shae with her; her hand maiden and her increasingly indolent looks was scarce to be found, and she did not bother looking for another maid. Her husband spent some of his early awakenings wandering down the paths about the castles; to be alone was to lead to better revelations she guessed.

She floated down the hallways; her loose gown and their long sleeves billowed behind her gently, carried by a draft. She folded her hands before her body, her eyes watching the ground before her. Eye contact would only encourage engagement, and Sansa did not feel like plastering a smile across her cheeks. Faking joy in her blue eyes. _I have become such the perfect liar._ She miserably observed.

The halls were quieter than she had expected, and something she was not going to be ungrateful for, so her journey through the castle went quickly. She made her way out one of the side doors, blinking as she stepped into the sunlight. The air was warm with summer and she wondered if perhaps she should have chosen a dress with shorter sleeves. She was too bothered to turn back now, and she did not wish to have one of her handmaidens inquire as to where she was off to, so Sansa resolved to suffer a bit in the heat. Besides, she was glad to feel the sun on her cheeks, missing its kisses and embraces she had come to love in King's Landing. _There is so much beauty in this place,_ She squinted into the bright light as she made her way through the court yard to the front gates. _There is so much here that could blossom if it had…if it had a little love. A little mercy_.

She did not slow down until she had left the castle behind, making her way to the sea. She felt the thrill of being unescorted; though perhaps it was a foolish thought. She paused for a moment at the front of the castle, her heart beating in her ears.

"Sansa," The beating was joined by call. Sansa turned and saw Lady Olenna Tyrell hobbling across the path on her cane, her twin guards behind her.

"My lady," Sansa offered her a smile then a respectful curtsey.

"Where are you off to, child, without an escort I may add?" Her voice might shake due to age, but it lost none of its power.

"I wanted to go and gaze upon the sea," Sansa looked down the road to where the Blackwater was dancing with the sunbeams.

"Let me escort you then. My two men may follow us and we can sit and watch the water." Olenna smiled.

Sansa's heart dropped as she realized she would not be alone, but what kind of conversation could she truly keep with Lady Olenna. Perhaps she would permit her some quiet. When the two began to walk, however, Sansa also realized these hopes were soon to be crashed.

"How are you doing, my dear girl?" Lady Olenna began as soon as the slow journey to the seas side began.

"I am well and fair, my lady." Sansa replied.

"I would not say you are well if you are wandering about the outer court with no escort." The old woman made the walk down River Row maddening. Sansa wished the docks were a bit closer.

"I could not find my handmaiden." Sansa responded.

"Irresponsible." Lady Olenna replied with indignance. "You should tell that worthless husband of yours to take better care that you are well looked after."

"He does not know I am out here—or that this was even my intention." Sansa confessed. She wrung her hands together, perhaps she should have told him.

 _What? So he could come to your rescue? Do you forget that you are going to be rescued in two days' time and you are no longer in his protection_. Sansa's heart was heavy.

"Well, I suppose a woman of such strong…will…as yourself does not want permission for everything." Sansa watched the elderly woman lean on her cane. She was unsure how to respond, so she did not.

The journey seemed to take ages before the two reached the docks. Lady Olenna led Sansa to a bench on one of the wooden platforms, settling stiffly onto the seat. She waved at her two guards to wait at the end of the dock; the twins complied, standing with their backs to the women, their hands joined above their rears. Sansa settled onto the wood next to Lady Olenna, her squint worsening as she looked across the dancing waters.

"You must be anticipating the wedding," Lady Olenna spoke after a moment of silence.

"Yes, I am sure it is to be beautiful. Lady Margaery will make the perfect bride as well as the perfect queen." Sansa's hands lay on her legs.

"Yes," the woman laughed "Yes, I am sure my granddaughter will make the best queen that Westeros can hope for." Her cane stood before her, and even though she sat Lady Olenna leaned on the wooden knob. "I am sure you would have made a beautiful bride, Sansa."

"But I am already married." Sansa replied.

"Fear is expected on the face of a bride, but terror does not become one."

Sansa had nothing to say. She had looked terrified, and confused, and broken. She did not have a beautiful wedding, or a beautiful feast. "I heard the celebration afterwards is supposed to be grand."

Lady Olenna let out a laugh. "I am sure that your lord husband has already complained to you about the extravagance. But what can be said? Lords are as greedy for carelessness as they are crowns." Sansa could not disagree with the wizened woman. "But you did not come out here to hear me talk, girl. I have much to think about and remember about my days given. And I can see in those blue Tully eyes of yours that you are troubled. So I shall leave you to the intimate conversation of your thoughts."

Sansa wanted to thank her, but assumed that it would be rude to thank an elder for remaining silent. And she did not want to say anymore in case the old woman did start talking again. So Sansa turned her face to look back over the water, the waves were soothing to watch. The smell of salt and sand filled her nostril as the water crashing gently against the docks filled her ears. This was a welcoming silence.

And these were the waves which were going to bring her to her salvation in two days. Sansa's heart raced as she thought about the intended rescue. However, her pulse quickened not in the joyful anticipation which had filled her even a week ago. There was a certain sadness and regret which was passing through her veins. She knew that she would come to miss Tyrion, if only because he showed her a kindness he was always portrayed as never having.

Sansa's nails dug into the sides of her fingers as she wrung her hands even harder. And if she was pregnant, well, what would happen to her? What would truly happen? She could not marry again; a child would be evidence that she was a woman deflowered with a bastard. No lord would want a ruined lady, even if her title was as prominent as Sansa's.

 _Men are kings at double speaking. They can be with all those whores, and yet we are expected to remain chaste and clean for their pleasure on our wedding night._ Sansa took pride in an awakened hope that Margaery was not a maiden. An odd sense of victory lay in the soon to be queen's mysterious, and possibly illustrious, love life. Though Sansa could not complain that she was cursed among the sheets, either. _I have been more blessed than cursed by my marriage to Tyrion. But I want to choose. I want to be free to court and love and meet handsome knights and make wild romances._

Sansa could see herself slipping into the girl which had trapped her within this family, within this land, because she was unable to see reality. Dreams and fantasies were all fine and good when one's head was on the pillow, but never true confidences in decision making. She had completely deceived herself about Joffrey. _Perhaps I am just fooling myself about Tyrion, as well._ She sighed audibly, causing Lady Olenna to look over at her. Sansa smiled at her, signaling an apology.

 _But I took advantage of my situation. I cannot deny that if I am pregnant, that my child is one half Lannister. A powerful family who is still alive…even if they are being internally defeated_. Sansa reasoned. Though, she still could not entirely convince herself that Tyrion and Joffrey were of the same temperament. _He did save me, from Joffrey. And he has never turned me in. Even when he knew I was being treacherous or foolish in some of my mutterings._

Sansa pushed her reasoning from her mind. The facts were before her; she had missed her moon's blood, and if she was pregnant she would use the hand given her; she would take the escape on the wedding day, and she would return to Winterfell after returning to the Northern houses. They would surely fight for her inheritance. She would take a page from Tyrion's book of victory—have someone fight for you. You usually survived.

Sansa, her mind made up, stood. Lady Olenna looked up at her, her eyes squinting against the sun which was behind Sansa now.

"Has your mind been sorted, my child?" Lady Olenna asked.

"It has." Sansa replied.

"I am sure you will make the right decision, Sansa," Lady Olenna reached out and squeezed her wrist. "You are a clever girl."

"I thank you for your kind words, Lady Olenna. And I truly hope that your predictions are correct." Sansa replied as she watched the elderly woman push herself to her feet.

"We should fetch my two oafs, here. I am also glad you had come to your resolution; it is past our midday meal and I am hungry. I only have so many meals left, Sansa. You never know when the gods will take you when you get to see as many days as I have." Lady Olenna babbled on as she moved forward.

 _No one knows how many days are left even in those of us who have seen few days in the midst of this game, my lady_. Sansa thought, but followed Lady Olenna without saying a word.


	18. Retreats

The day before the wedding had dawned on the two more quickly than either realized. Tyrion had stayed about the room longer than she expected that morning and she wondered why he did not retreat to his solar in the wake of her silence. Sansa's tummy knotted tightly and caused its contents to lurch. She was nervous and upset, as each passing moment of nausea wished him harder away from the room. She did not want leisurely conversation, something the two had grown so fond of unintentionally; she did not wish to speak in fear of saying too many words. Words which led to betrayal. _I suppose in the end betrayal is something I cannot entirely avoid. I betray Lord Baelish or I betray my lord husband_. _Betrayal seems to be my gift in this bloody game_.

She had not wanted to leave the protection of the sheets once again, but reverting to inaction would solve none of her worries. So she had pushed the sheets from her legs and pushed herself from the bed only to find that Tyrion was there. She was hoping to have the morning to herself to decide what she should do because she had not yet made up her mind about whether she would tell Tyrion or not about her recent discovery. She was tempted to just let fate take care of the decision by letting tomorrow night decide for itself what she would do. If she was taken away, what need was there to torture him with the truth? But perhaps it was crueler to not let him know what had transpired? After all, he had his own hand in the conception. Sansa kept putting off the decision making as it made her head spin in circles. She needed to decide by this evening, though. Before the wedding took all her time away.

She watched her husband for a moment as he sat in a chair and poured over a book. He was relaxed, his posture not held rigid to appear taller and more assuming. He was at peace, totally unguarded in this moment. She could not contain the small sad smile which pulled at the corners of her mouth. He truly was a man of great honor, even if he bore that atrocious lion on his sigil.

"Good morning, Sansa," Tyrion spoke without lifting his eyes from the page. Sansa startled at his sudden greeting.

"Good morning, my lord," she approached him, no longer held in the spell of observation. "I was just surprised to find you here instead of in the solar."

Tyrion looked up at her now, his eyes hooded by his prominent brow, a small frown on his mouth. "Do you wish me to be gone, my lady, and I shall."

"No," she answered quickly. "No, I just hope I will not interrupt your studies."

"It would be a welcome interruption, Sansa, do not forget that." He lowered the book to his lap. "But I hope I do not disturb whatever it is you do in your morning hours."

 _We are still such strangers_. She mused. _He and I only come intimately together in the winding lustfilled moments of the night._

"No, you do not, Tyrion." Sansa replied. She reached up to twirl a lock of hair about her finger in a nervous habit. He smiled at her, his gaze steadily watching her. Sansa shifted under his gaze, preparing to turn and look for Shae who was most likely in the dressing quarters, tidying up or gossiping with the other maids.

"You look...new, Sansa." He said. Sansa turned back to meet his eyes once again.

"What do you mean, my lord?" She asked.

"You glow," He commented. "Perhaps it is just the sun on your beauty." He shook his head.

"Thank you," Sansa replied. "I am glad I please my lord." Hollow. Empty. Phrases which most certainly would displease him.

"Please, Sansa, I should trust by now you know courtesies are not needed here. Have you yet to trust me?" A smile played across his lips. "Well, as much as you could trust a man with a lion borne on his sigil."

"Of course, Tyrion." Sansa replied.

"Then come, we shall sit together and do nothing of importance today. We shall ignore all the anger and enemies and…dying which takes place outside these walls for today. A preparation for our battle through tomorrow's arduous celebration." He held out his hand to her. Sansa paused for a moment, wrapping her arm about her waist. Her stomach clenched with the prospect of such a heavy secret and all the time to speak of it.

"I am not sure, my lord. We do not want to add to the strife…." Sansa stalled.

"I am sure we will cause less strife if we do not show our faces; we may even stop some conflict. You do not truly wish to be in the midst of all this." His hand outstretched toward her.

Sansa walked toward him, her bare feet padding on the floors. She reached her hand out to him and he took her fingers in his small grasp. He leaned forward and kissed her knuckles gently. Sansa felt his thumb brush over the back of her hand, but her mind was too preoccupied with what to say, rehearsing her lines. _Practicing my song_.

"Sansa, what is on your mind." Tyrion asked her, placing another kiss on her knuckles. Sansa jumped once again.

"Nothing of importance, my lord."

Tyrion pulled her toward him, taking hold of her wrist to pull her into the chair. She settled onto his stunted lap. He placed his hand across her thighs, pressing his wrist against her stomach. She shifted uncomfortably.

Tyrion sighed. "I would hope you would trust that I will keep you safe, as well."

"Bronn's presence has assured me that you certainly will," Sansa replied. Tyrion kissed the skin of her bare arm which pressed against his chest.

"You are right." Tyrion looked up at her. Sansa offered him a closed mouth smile.

"I know you wish to stay confined for the day," She started. "But I really want to go for a walk. To be in the sun."

"Of course," Tyrion nodded his head. "Of course. I should let you prepare for the morning."

"Thank you, my lord." Sansa stood from his lap. Before turning she leaned over and placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth. Softly and deftly. Tyrion's head turned to center her lips, but she had turned to find Shae to dress.

* * *

The sun was bright when the two stepped out into the garden. Sansa was dressed in a rich red silk dress which accentuated the curves of her breasts. Tyrion tried to push the thought from her mind. His little interaction with Shae had him thirsty for the taste of Sansa's body, for any woman's body. Sansa had pulled away from him since that afternoon in the solar, the incident between he and Shae, and Tyrion had a sinking feeling that she knew.

She did not shy away from him this afternoon, his skin still tingling from the touch of her lips. He looked up at her once more and saw the sun kissing her reddish hair, blowing in the breeze. He had not lied earlier when he had told her she appeared to glow. There was something that about her that was different, more dignified. There was something different, but he was not sure if it was wrong.

"The summer is beautiful, is it not, my lord?" Sansa asked as she walked beside him. Tyrion smiled.

"It is," he agreed. "I should take you out to Casterly Rock. After the wedding. We could go out and see the castle and I could show you were Jamie and I play fought; where we grew up."

"That would be…nice, my lord." Sansa's voice was tight. He looked up at her, but her gaze remained straight ahead.

"Is there something keeping you here at King's Landing, my wolf?" He asked.

"No. Nothing is keeping me here if I can get away." Sansa replied.

"Then it is settled. We shall leave a few days after." She smiled down at him, sadly. He offered his elbow out to her and she took it, sidling closer to him.

"I think you will love Casterly Rock," Tyrion said. "Less people to look at you with harsh eyes and frowns."

"That sounds pleasant," Sansa responded.

"I am sure you could do without your name being whispered among the halls. There is nothing that I can do to protect you from those."

"You have done your best to shield me, Tyrion, and for that I must thank you." Sansa replied. Tyrion's heart pounded in his ears. He loved when she said his name, something that she still only wielded occasionally.

"My lady, you deserve none of this torture." Tyrion answered. "The sins of our fathers are the ones you are suffering consequences for."

"I refuse to suffer anymore," her voice was strong and unwavering. Tyrion caught her blue eyes.

"And what are you planning, my clever lady?" Tyrion asked. Sansa blanched as she looked away. "Aside from the little plot we have—when you have succeeded how long will you wait until you reveal your secret? Because you cannot remain in such a condition unnoticed for long."

"I will know when the time is right; I have beginning plans in regards to such an occasion." Sansa assured him.

"Well I would be pressed to know what your plan is." Tyrion laughed. "Perhaps Joffrey's wedding comes at a convenient time; we can keep your dignity intact, but claim your maidenhead was stormed with too much wine." He was quite proud of his plan. He wanted to leave Sansa with an air of rebellion. As for pleasing his father, Tyrion had no way of avoiding that.

"Tyrion," Sansa looked down at him. "Please do not say such things to anyone. Please."

"Of course, Sansa, whatever makes you happy. But I wish you would tell me what is going on." He watched her face fall into a pained expression.

"You will know what my secret is tomorrow." Sansa answered.

"Do not tell me you are going to do something foolish, Sansa." Tyrion's heart pounded in his chest as he looked up at her. "I can only do so much if you anger the king."

"I will not do anything to Joffrey, my lord. I am still too afraid of your… _our_ nephew." Sansa stood walking, her hands coming to envelope her face.

"Sansa, what is the matter?" Tyrion reached up to touch her elbow. She looked down at him, her right hand dropping to her side so he could take it in his stunted hands. He led her down the path to the nearest stone bench, urging her to sit down. She obeyed, but he could see that her face was etched with anguish, and her eyes shone with tears she was fighting back.

"You are going to be so angry with me," Sansa could not look at him. Tyrion's heart paused in his chest, but now was not the time to pull away from her. Had his whole family not angered her with the most indecent atrocity of King's Landing.

"I promise I will do my best to rein it in. Now please tell me and unburden your heart. Let down your courtesies, please, my love." The words had slipped over his lips and he inwardly damned himself. The endearment caused Sansa to cringe, bending over further at her waist. "I mean…" He decided to dismiss the name instead of dwelling over it. "There is not another man?"

Sansa looked up at him with a faint smile. "No, no there is not another." She sniffed lightly.

"Then how can I possibly be angry. Unless you've arranged a murder at the wedding?" Tyrion chuckled. He certainly would not blame her if she had the same foul plan tucked up her skirts.

"No," Sansa looked away. "Oh, I cannot tell you. All I can say is that I am sorry."

"Well, I supposed I will have to take your admittance that something is up as some sort of confidence." Tyrion sighed.

"I wish I could tell you," Sansa reached out to him again, taking his hand in hers. "I find myself wanting to. But I am sworn to secrecy. And it is something which must happen."

"I will trust your judgment," Tyrion sighed. Though her judgment could be poor as a scared fourteen year old girl. "But you will tell me if you are with child. Just promise _me_ that. I am as involved in this as you are."

Sansa let out a small squeak of a sob, pressing the back of her hand to her nose. "I will." She breathed when she had gained composer.

"Good, now we should talk about tomorrow morning and get your mind onto a drearier subject." Tyrion smiled at her, letting go of her hand to reach out and run his thumb over the curve of her cheekbone as the rest of his fingers gently touched the pale skin. "But perhaps we shall make our way back to our quarters; you look rather pale, my lady." He made sure to use the right title. _Damn, what is this wild Northern girl doing to me. She has my cock and suddenly she has found a way to my heart? You are a fool once again, Tyrion._

"I would like to, Tyrion. The sun has grown too hot for me in this moment." Sansa agreed. She stood slowly and crossed her hands before her hips. Tyrion longed to hold her hand, escort her more intimately through the gardens. But it would certainly give away their forming friendship, and both wanted the courts thinking that Sansa's wolf blood kept her from the loins of lions.

"If you are not feeling well enough for tomorrow, we could certainly not appear."

"I am not sure that would bode well with your father." Sansa said.

"No, no I suppose it would not." Tyrion shook his head. "You are not going to be someone who makes sure I obey my father's every orders, are you, my dear wolf?"

"I can make you do nothing, my lord. You are a man of his own mind." Sansa looked down at him with a small smile. He found himself laughing at her attempt to compliment.

"Sometimes I question that when I am around beautiful woman such as yourself. My thoughts suddenly become as murky as the Blackwater and I find I just say yes to every word which drips from your mouth."

"Are you a poet now, too, my lord." Sansa japed. Tyrion let out a hearty laugh this time.

"Me? A poet? Nay, I am not sensitive enough. Plus, I would probably have to sing, and no court would bloody want that." He laughed.

"I am sure tomorrow night everyone will be too drunk to care." Sansa responded. "I am sure you could get your first poem in about how women's part beguile you."

"I can see that my wanton ways have corrupted such a young innocent woman as yourself."

"I hear no remorse in your voice."

"That is because there is none. Haven't you heard; I am the Imp. I am a drunken little lustfilled beast. I am to infect others with the same disease." Tyrion smiled as he waddled calmly beside his wife. She was at ease, a smile and color returning to her face once again.

"Perhaps you will not infect a lady of the North." Sansa said. Tyrion nodded his head. She had not forgotten who she was; he found himself praying once more that he could help her fulfill her title and return her to the frozen woods.

"No, perhaps there is too much Wilding lust in there which needs to be awakened. You have an infectious disease all your own." He japed. Sansa let out a joking huff of anger, bumping into him with her leg. He stumbled, but kept his balance, a laugh following. "I knew it—Wilding all along."

Sansa increased her speed, looking back at him with a twinkle in her bright blue eyes.

Whatever had been bothering her beforehand was pushed to the back of her mind. But he had to find out one way or another what was wrong. Especially if there was a mishap which could risk her life in throws of the wedding. Tyrion pushed his determination for answers away for the moment, and instead went after his wife whose mouth was filled with giggles and eyes with mischief.

* * *


	19. Confessions

Sansa would miss this room she had come to know so intimately. She would miss quiet afternoons sitting by the window with a needle in hand to while away the hours. They were hours of her imprisonment, but somehow they became more bearable. Every item she touched that evening, she touched with the hope of not feeling it again. And the thought was breaking her heart, not healing her pride as she had thought would happen. She sat down at her last solitary meal with her husband, her heart and mind heavy. And she knew that he sensed something was amiss; he began to read her despite her steel skin, and she found that it made her feel less lonely. Because Sansa knew she was desperate for connection. She needed another human being to be able to hear her cries at night, her screams of terror, and to wake her and hold her. She needed someone to tell a mundane story to about some rose in the garden she was watching bloom slowly and beautifully. A light touch on her tummy tried to assure her that she was going to have someone to share her life with. She would never be alone now, right? As long as she could play her pieces well and lie to Lord Baelish, whom Tyrion claimed was the greatest liar of them all.

So Sansa tried to focus on the moments she had now in the room which was lit with soft candlelight and quiet except for the gentle rustle of the curtains in the evening breeze. A soft wind Sansa brought through her nostrils slowly, straightening her back as the air filled her lungs and soothed her roaring stomach. Opening her eyes, she returned to the course before her.

"Sansa, you look grieved," Tyrion tried to make conversation.

She recalled when his conversations made her uncomfortable, when she pushed him away because she did not want him in her sights. Now his concern was endearing and thoughtful; she did not doubt that he truly did care for her. She had not known what to say when Tyrion had called her 'his love' in the garden. She could not fully admit that she did love him, she was uncertain of how she felt about tomorrow much less about what she thought of her forced marriage.

"Sansa?" He asked again, reaching out to place his hand over hers. She jumped at the warmth which overcame her skin. "I know you already informed me today that you do not want to speak about whatever secret you have, but I beg of you, if it is something foolhardy you can tell me."

Sansa felt the burning lump in her throat which signaled tears would well to her eyes. She needed to tell him something; it was becoming harder to lie to him. But he would not let her go, he wouldn't understand. He was a kind man to a dangerous fault, a lover until it became an obsession. She supposed she might as well remove one heavy burden off her chest. She wanted to leave it in a note, knowing that if she did tell him that he would never take his eyes off of her tomorrow. But he certainly wouldn't take his gaze from her if he sensed something was wrong and she would not confess to it.

"I know you will be angry with me," Sansa looked over at him, his face shadowed in the dim light.

"Sansa, there are far greater things to be angry with than a fear you have trouble giving voice to," He leaned forward to take his wine glass in hand, a ruby eyed lion wrapped around his finger winked at her as it reflected the candlelight. _Lions and wolves are both brave; I am both now, so my courage should be doubled._

"I should have told you about this earlier; I promised I would." Sansa knew she was tipping her hand quickly, so she could not give him a moment to interrupt. "But I just was nervous. I perhaps was scared. But I did promise and my chest is bursting with its enormous weight."

"Sansa?" Tyrion leaned forward, resting his cup on the surface of the table. "Speak, my lady, and have no more fear."

"I believe I am with child." Sansa's cheeks flushed when she told him, her gaze dropping to her lap. The tension in the room tightened as he did not respond to her news. "I know you must be disappointed at the least that I did not tell you earlier, but I have only missed my last moon's blood, and I am not for certain that—"

It was Tyrion's hearty laughter which cut off her explanation for her delay. She looked back up at him, startled by the response. She was sure that he would have harsh words for her not telling him as soon as she knew. Especially with the digging he was doing this morning, burrowing his way under her walls, through her skin.

"You feared I would be angry with you about this?" Tyrion asked. She realized that his laughter was light, even could be described as happy.

"I know that you had asked me all morning to tell you my secret, and I just was not sure when to do it, and I know that we have to be so guarded —"

"Well, we will have to figure out something soon, my wolf, if you are certainly with child. You will only make it so many months until others are in on your plan."

"Of course," Sansa tried to act disappointed in herself. She could not reveal that she still had another secret hidden; he would sense it on her in this setting. He would wonder why she was not concerned with formulating a response to future questions about her pregnancy.

 _Though, I will_. Sansa pushed the thoughts to the corners of her mind, but they whispered tremendously in her ear. _You will have to tell Lord Baelish some lie. You may have to claim you have been raped. You are going to have to come up with stories someday, you foolish wolf spider._

"Are you happy, then?" Tyrion's question was a welcome relief to the voices in her head.

"I…I am overjoyed, my lord." Sansa let out a genuine laugh and did her best to focus on the joy of someone she could hold, someone who would want her. "I do hope that my moon's blood does not play tricks and that I will indeed have a little babe."

"You act as if this was the only chance, my dear." Tyrion reached out again, taking her hand in both of his this time. "If this is a cruel jape played by your woman's blood, then I promise that I will be here. I will _always_ be here, Sansa, if you want of anything."

"As you have assured me time and again, my lord," Sansa's cheeks turned pink once again. Tyrion's thumbs rubbed along both sides of her hand. The gesture was actually soothing to her nerves and her hand was able to relax in his.

"The trip to Casterly Rock may be well planned. It will give you several months away from the castle. I am sure you do not want to be around the city if you are not feeling at your best. You have been rather tired as of late, and if you are to feel this way the sun and the waters will be soothing."

Sansa looked down into his green eyes and she could see the joy and amazement which filled them. Her throat still burned with tears as she saw the wonder; she was going to steal it away from him. She was a cruel woman. She should not have told him that she was with child. She should have written it in a letter. She could have hid it somewhere only he would find it. Risky, but her heart would not feel further burdened.

"I would appreciate that, my lord. I would rather not be around longer than I need to be when Joffrey and Margaery have been tied together in marriage. There will be changes around the kingdom, the two richest houses in Westeros marrying. Perhaps an end to a bloody war."

"Which means Winterfell is only so much closer, my lady." Tyrion pulled her hand close, placing a kiss on the soft skin.

Sansa closed her eyes and knew that she must offer some grace. Perhaps the gesture would appease the sense of guilt growing in her belly. She pulled her hand away and Tyrion naturally looked upwards at her, a half hidden hurt written across his scarred face. Sansa did not look at him long before she leaned forward and placed her mouth on his. She kissed him firmly. A kiss which was usually only shared on the bed when the two were joined together in child-making. A kiss which served as a thanks to Tyrion for aiding her plan.

His mouth tasted more strongly of wine, and in a sad way she knew she would miss the exotic traces of sweetness and spit, as unappealing as the notion sounded. But these were the tastes of security, the beginnings of crumbling towers. She could not completely steel her skin when she left it open for him to devour. Not when he was so gentle, so thoughtful, so fulfilling. He had worked himself into a piece of her whether she wanted him for good or left him behind in the days to come. It was unfair how the rules of relationships worked. Sansa grabbed his face unconsciously, her kiss tightening and hardening against his mouth. She let go only when he began to pull away. Her eyes looking into his light ones.

He leaned forward to kiss her again, his lips remaining closed. She could sense the desire she had stirred in him. But he kissed her once and pulled away.

"Thank you," Sansa gave words to the action. Tyrion shook his head.

"Sansa, I will give you everything you want. I do not think you understand that you have become my joy. You are the one to be thanked." He took her hand in his again, his thumb circle the base of her own.

She smiled; how her husband was as eager for love as she. Perhaps it was unfair of her to think that she only dreamed of knights and tourneys in her romantic desires. Tyrion was a man, if only not usual in stature, and he certainly had the dreams of the high lords. He wanted fair ladies and honors. And this only made Sansa feel more sorry for her plans.

"As long as it pleases you, I will ask." Sansa spoke up. "And since I have told you my secret, you must tell me yours."

"Oh?" She watched Tyrion flush red; he looked down in shame this time.

"What is it?" Sansa asked with curiosity.

"You want to know what happened in the study the other day; I am sure your handmaiden has told you the whole story." Tyrion looked like the puppy Sansa once watched Joffrey kick when he looked up at her.

"I was going to enquire what you got the king for his wedding, since we are to dine with the Lannisters in the morning." Sansa's brows knitted. "Is there something else which you are not telling me and I should know of?" _I have been fooled into believing in safety. I am merely another one of his whores, aren't I? Whispering sweet promises of gifts and gold to me because he wants to be assured I am with him tonight._

"It is of my shame, Sansa. And now it is time for me to risk your wrath." Tyrion did not pull his hand from hers, but his gaze no longer held.

"You do not need to tell me if you think it unwise."

"But I want to you to trust me, Sansa, and I, you. And you have strengthened my trust by telling me your secret. Telling me what is troubling your sweet mind."— _Oh, by the seven, how he tortures me!-_ "Sansa I was deceptive when I act like I have never seen your handmaiden Shae before this time. I met her and she was of…a certain service to me. A service which my father did not allow me to bring back to King's Landing."

"Oh," Sansa mustered up a response.

" And, Sansa, I thought I loved her. I thought maybe I did. But then this marriage happened and situations changed and—I found that I did not have the same passion for her as I have developed for you. There is something with you that is set apart from any woman I have been with. And Shae… Shae may have loved me. And she came to the study the other day and…well…" Tyrion's eyes looked up at her.

 _Why does he tell me this story. As if I would care if he was with other woman._ But she did care. And it hurt her as he confessed. "Oh." She replied in understanding.

"And I beg your forgiveness, my lady, and I promise that I, the lust filled beast that I am, I will remain celibate to you only."

 _It would explain Shae's cruelty to me._ Sansa sighed. "I thank you for your confession. You are kind in wanting to share with me what may make me angry."

"Because you are important to me, Sansa." Tyrion's hand gripped hers harder. Sansa closed her eyes. How she wanted to hear those words in the midst of her abuse at Joffrey's hand. _You are important, and I will protect_.

"I offer forgiveness," Sansa said. "And I still wish to know what you are giving our king in the morning."

"I owe you more each and every day, my just lady." He kissed her hand, squeezing it tightly before answering her actual question. "Something which may be foolish," Tyrion admitted letting go of her hand and replacing it with his cup.

"I think any gift given to Joffrey is foolish," Sansa said.

"You are correct in your assessment, my lady wife," he took a sip of wine. "But you are a clever girl, something as obvious would never slip your attention."

"You still haven't answered my question," Sansa pressed. He pressed his lips looking down into his drink, both his hands now cradling the cup.

"I got him a book," Tyrion finally spoke.

"Will he be able to read it? Is he even capable of reading?" Sansa exclaimed in an attempt to lighten the mood. It earned a smile across her husband's lips.

"I ask myself the same question, but it would do the boy good if he actually read it."

"Which book is it?"

"A very old book, Sansa, one that is bound to bore you with the past and wars…"

"Possibly I would find it enjoyable. Much more enjoyable than sitting around the castle with nothing to do."

"Ah, right. A woman like you certainly longs for a whetstone," Tyrion took another sip of his wine.

"Some of us did like learning when we were given the chance," Sansa said. Again Tyrion smiled.

"Eager students are a blessing," He leaned towards her. "Perchance I can teach you more, my beautiful wife, when the insanity is over. When we are well and left alone."

Sansa looked into his green eyes as a warmth swept over her chest. He truly did think her worth his time. He even recognized her capability to learn, something which Joffrey, and perhaps even Willas, would have dismissed as a waste of time and energy.

"That would be…wonderful." Sansa said.

"I wish this wedding business was done and over with; it gives me nothing but a headache and I so wish to be free of it. Your friend Littlefinger should be back soon after, I should hope. The one thing that man is good at is breeding coins."

Sansa's heart beat in her ears. "He is to return?"

"I would hope so. Before this task drives me mad."

"That would be of no good, would it, my lord?"

"No. I do not think you want to add insane to my list of esteemed qualities." Tyrion said with a smile on his lips. Sansa could not bring one to her own.

"I do not think you should think so harshly of yourself." She returned to pushing her fork through her food, nervous in admitting her admiration.

"Oh?" She could sense him looking up at her.

"For a lion you have been very kind," she softened the compliment. "I was expecting to have my neck ripped out, and I have fared so far."

"Because you are a wolf in lion's clothing, Sansa. You play the game well."

"It does not diminish your kindness," she wished he would accept the kindness. "Even if they are the words from a disgraced daughter."

"We're just matched as equals."

"So you have said before." She looked up at him with a soft grin on her lips.

"We shall no doubt receive the seats of highest honor tomorrow." Tyrion's prediction was wrought with sarcasm.

"Do you really want to be so near our dear nephew?" Sansa took her wine in hand again.

"I would prefer to be lands away. But come, there are more happy things to talk about. Such as what we are going to name the next heir of Winterfell."

Sansa smiled at him, but she did not feel it in her bones. There was a lie which kept her from being truly happy, and she was jealous of the girl she could have been. There was so much hope here, she would surely be safe, she would be respected and adored. But she would still remain caged. Her wings were aching and her throat was sore from singing.

"Yes, I do wish to come to an agreement soon," she replied. After all, he would have no voice when her time came. She might as well give him one now.


	20. Gifts

Sansa lay panting among the sheets, her chest undulating as her heart raced under her breast. Her lord husband was on the mattress next to her, grabbing for his own portions of air. She was learning so much about how their bodies melded, and each encounter was more sure, leading to higher heights of pleasure.

She rolled over on her side to look over at the man beside her. She remembered the days when looking at him for the hours after he had been between her legs was difficult enough. Even when she began to trust him a little more. She sometimes felt pangs of guilt which kept her looking away for several moments afterwards, but today she had no amount of fear.

His head rolled to the side to look at her, his mess of blond hair falling across his thick brow. He looked half crazed, especially as a smile made its way across his face.

"At least you have been learning in one discipline," he commented, his arm closest to her slid across the pillows and touched her cheek tenderly.

"I have had a patient teacher," Sansa replied, welcoming his knuckles across her soft skin. She reached up impulsively, her fingers wrapping around his palm. He clenched his own stunted ones over the back of her hand.

"With such a willing pupil as yourself it was not difficult." He stretched upward to place a kiss on her mouth. She closed her eyes as his wet lips pressed against hers. It was gentle kiss, not filled with lust and passion as was usually when kisses were given abed. "Something still troubles you, Sansa."

"I am just not ready for tomorrow," Sansa lied quickly. "All those people for all those hours. And so many will probably apologize to me for something or another."

Tyrion chuckled, placing a kiss on her forehead now. "There is nothing to fret over, my beautiful girl. I promise that you will be safe."

Sansa squeezed his hand harder. She was beginning to see how he truly did care for her in some capacity or another. Such kindness and mercy was something she had begun to take advantage of. His comforting touches, his gentle kisses. She found she would even miss their intimate interactions. He had done what Margaery promised: he was able to pleasure her even if some nights she was less interested in affection and more interested in an heir. Tonight he had her on the verge of screams, an admittance of which she was embarrassed.

"Sansa," He spoke her out of her head.

"Hmm?" She hummed, looking over at him.

"I just…I wanted to talk about what I said in the garden the other day. The slip I made,"

Sansa's heart pounded. "What do you mean, Tyrion?"

"I referred to you as my love, I knew it was not appropriate. I fear I may have scared you." He was looking over her face as he talked.

"Oh? My lord it was merely-"

"Shhh, Sansa, let me finish." He placed a kiss on her knuckles. "I think I should tell you that I have fallen hopelessly in love with you. A love I never thought I would feel again."

Sansa did not know how to respond. It would be cruel to affirm feelings which she was not sure she even had.

"I do not expect you to answer, Sansa. But I think it is only fair that you know that this half man will never lose you. I cannot, Sansa, it would break my heart."

"I do not wish to break it, my lord husband," she slipped behind courtesies.

"Do not fear my wrath, Sansa. There is none. And do not worry if you are a wiser half and do not feel the same." He leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "Affection will come with time. You just have a fool of a husband who gave his heart away too easily."

Sansa felt her eyes prickle with tears as he kissed her forehead. His kisses sweeping down her temple and over her cheek, pressing against her lips. His hand letting go of hers as he moved closer. She felt his hand on her shoulders, and, before long, he was pressing against her breast. He massaged the skin lightly.

"I do not know where I would be if not for you, Tyrion." She replied honestly.

"Hush, there is no need for words you do not mean."

So hush she did as he kissed her lips, his fingers pulling at the nub of her nipple. The sensation was tight and exciting, her mind clouding again as it focused on his smooth touches and prods. His mouth found the curve of her neck and nibbled softly. She drew her breath in slowly, placing her hand on the back of his head. His kiss did not quell the burning in her throat and she found herself choking. A cough forced itself from her chest and she let go of him to sit up, to pull away.

"I am sorry," she choked on her thick throat, pulling her knees up to her chest to place her upon them.

"Come here, my lady," Tyrion's hand rested on her shoulders, pulling her back to the mattress. She allowed him to do so, bracing herself for the kiss to come and the feel of him between her legs. She should give it to him, as an early apology and a thank you for his protection.

But he only pulled her to his side, resting her head against his chest. She settled against the warmed skin, her hand naturally resting beside her face. He wrapped his arm behind her, his hand running through her bright locks of hair. With the other hand he pulled up the sheets around her body, pressing a kiss to her forehead. A sense of relief washed over her as he held her closely.

"Why is it that the bad people always win?" She gave words to what she had been wondering ever since she found Joffrey's true nature. She had wanted to scream the unanswerable question out as she saw her father's head fall to the ground.

"I don't know, Sansa." His answer was honest. His fingers massaged her scalp gently, sending shivers down her spine. "I wish I could give you an answer. They will not prosper forever, my wolf. There will come a day when they must come to terms with what they have started."

Sansa knew he was trying to comfort her. When had she become an adult? When her moon's blood started, technically. But there was so much about being grown up that she was not warned about. She was never told that she would not have the answers to scary questions, that she would have no one to protect her when the evils came.

"Where are the gods?" Sansa sighed. Tyrion stiffened, but did not reply with a sarcastic remark, much to her surprise.

"They are blessing us with the weapons to fight back," his words were not in character, but she assumed that he was saying what he could to his seemingly pious wife. Sansa had not stopped her journeys to the Godswood, though they were more plannings than prayers.

"I wish they would just win the war for us." She muttered. The statement's gloominess elicited a chest heaving chuckle from the half man.

"When both sides are praying to the same gods, which side do they chose to take, Sansa?"

"The side where innocent people are trying to keep their heads and visit allies without being slaughtered. The people who love the traitors, the people who want to see Westeros better."

"There is so much of your mother in you, Sansa." Tyrion was wistful in his remark. She braced for the burn to hit her heart, but the ache was not as severe as she thought it might be. "I mean you no harm in the remark, Sansa. You have her fiery passion hidden behind the skirts of ladylike politeness. Not to mention her eyes and hair."

"I find the remark comforting," Sansa could smile when she thanked him.

"I am glad, then." He shifted, placing her head back on the pillow. "I was wondering if I could give you something…I mean, I _want_ to give you something, if you are want to accept."

Sansa's heart pounded as she could only imagine what he would wish to give her. _It would be foolish to encourage this. You should tell him to wait until a later date._ "I wish to, my lord."

Tyrion brought his hands before his body, one twisting over the other. Sansa realized he was removing a ring from his hand, neither entirely shedding their jewelry as they crashed into bed together. Tyrion had given express orders to Pod and Bronn that neither were to be bothered that evening so both could get a deep rest before the long day to come.

"Can I see your hand?" Tyrion asked, holding out his hand as he looked at her. She held her left hand out to him.

He took the longer fingers in his hands, separating her ring finger from the others. "I understand if you find the piece undesirable. But know that I give it not to show ownership, but as a promise."

"And a Lannister always pays his debts," Sansa tried to lighten the mood.

Her finger was heavier with the weight of the ring, and Tyrion kissed the palm of her hand before letting her pull it back to her body. She did so quickly, admiring the finely crafted piece on her fingers. It was the ruby eyed lion head which Tyrion often wore; a symbol of House Lannister with rich terrifying eyes. Sansa did not hate it, however. It was a little lion, and one that would certainly not savage her.

"It is beautiful, Tyrion." She said softly.

"I know I did not have something new made for you, and if you wish I can order you a more ladylike piece for-"

"No, it is perfect the way it is. There is more meaning when it has been given already used." She smiled as she leaned forward to kiss him. And she meant it. "It makes the lion have significance to me; it will store my memories."

"Never ready to accept the title," He smiled at her. She flushed, but kissed him on the lips once more. "Since it is so sentimental to you, see it as a promise of a payment."

"Which payment will you give me this time, my lord." Sansa was preparing herself to receive a sexual answer.

"That you and your child will be the happiest in all of Westeros. I will get us through this war, Sansa, and we will raise the new wolf to be better than his relatives."

Sansa bit her lip as she looked down at him. "You have it wrong, my lord."

"What have I said which is false?"

"Ours. Our child." She kissed him once more and was glad his eyes were closed as she tried to keep the tears sliding down her cheeks from showing.


	21. Pleasure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Below is some pretty mature content. Like, pretty mature. But I wanted them to find some happiness, even if one party is less willing to accept than the other. Anyways: Thanks for reading and reviewing! - Lydia

The kiss had led to him twisting atop her body, the sheet which she draped over her hipbones pushed aside. Sansa opened her legs willingly, pressing into the kiss he covered her mouth with. One of his hands braced his body over hers, the other guiding himself inside her once more. Sansa inhaled sharply, but not in pain. The pleasure spreading through her body was a welcome friend, returning in warm waves when he began to move his hips against hers.

"Sansa," he moaned gently as he let go of the kiss. He pressed his cheek to hers and she could hear his breaths quicken. The hand he used to enter her was on her breast, kneading the tender skin.

"I'm here," she whispered, her voice husky. He was pushing into her at the right angle and she could feel her hips tingle with delight."My lord,"

Her throat was tight as she reached up and ran her fingers through his coarse thick hair. His hips pressed against her body, pushing deeply into her. She looked up at him, his eyes shining in the flickering candlelight as he looked down at her. She hissed as his fingers twisted around her nipple, tugging it. He leaned downward to press his mouth against her small tit. Her head swam faster and she found herself gasping for breath as he traced her breast with his teeth. She reached up to wrap her fingers into his thick hair.

"Are you pleased?" He managed to groan out.

"Oh," she could only reply. He pressed his body harder against her, making her belly burn with climax. "Oh, Tyrion."

He kissed her neck as he slowed his thrusts, the added pressure was causing her body to grow close to its end. She gripped his blond hair more tightly and he responded by rocking upward to place a kiss on her jaw line. His teeth gently tracing the gentle curve of her chin. Sansa's body had reached its limits and her hips were arching up against him. Tyrion sat upwards to press down on her disobedient jerks. As his hands held her slender hips, his mouth kissed and nibbled at her hard nipples. She closed her eyes and tried to jerk away, but his hands kept her pinned beneath him.

"Tyrion," She had learned to moan his name quietly. Her chest was rising and falling as she came down from her body shaking pleasure. The more comfortable she became, the more pleasure she found in his manhood.

Once she had settled back into the mattress he returned to a regular thrusting movement. She held tightly to the bed clothes as he rocked her body against the fabric, knowing he would finish and return to her side on the bed to nestle close and fall into a restful sleep as was common of late. So it was curious when he pulled away from her still not satisfied. Worried that she had done something wrong, she pushed herself to sit up to look at him. He did not look displeased, his hand held his hard purple manstaff between his legs.

"My lord?"

"My lady," his voice was tight. She glanced down only quickly, not wanting to embarrass either him or herself by examining his awake and hard cock. She did catch herself staring at it, when she was sure he was not looking or when he sometimes hardened in his sleep. The thrill of a man's forbidden parts to a lady riled her up. Sometimes she thought about the rumors she heard about whores, how they put men's parts into their mouths and pleasured them like a woman sheath. Had Shae done this? Is that why he had caved and had Shae between his legs, because she was more mastered than Sansa?

But what did it matter, Sansa was only allowing him to take her coveted virginity to give her an heir who could not be taken away. She did not care about how well she performed, she just had to _act_ like she did. Though—he seemed concerned with making sure she was writhing in the sheets, her body spasming with delight.

He came closer, his lips settling on hers in a rough kiss, interrupting her thoughts. Sansa leaned forward to kiss him harder, her hand unabashedly wrapping about his manstaff, willing to return it to her depths so that she could finish him, make him happy and trustful of her.

"You have not been…pleased?" She asked him. He smiled up at her, his glance still on her lips. He took the hand Sansa held his cock in making her release him, then wrapped his own hands around hers.

"I am always pleased with your cunt, Sansa." He murmured. She winced at the vulgar word, but had learned to accept that her lord husband's speech during sex was anything but proper.

"Then why have you stopped?"

He kissed her mouth again, pulling at her bottom lip. His hands found her breasts as they spoke and had begun to knead them again. He reached over to wetly kiss both of them.

"I wanted a different view," he answered after giving each of her nipples a firm massage with his tongue. She was shivering again with desire; he had discovered that her breasts were an easy way to get her excited for his man's part. He was working the same principle on her again.

"My lord?" Her throat was thick again as he stirred further want in her bones.

"Come, Sansa," he held his hand out to her as he laid backwards in front of her, his back against the bed, his cock straight up in the air. Sansa crawled past his legs and settled onto his hips, his manhood pressing against the inside of her thigh. It was still slick and wet from being inside of her when she had reached her pleasurable climax.

"It is not a proper throne, or one of which a woman such as Sansa Stark deserves, but please accept my poor manhood as a place for you to reign as queen."

He was so unabashed by what he said to her, always calling her regal nicknames and muttering about how her body made him want to release the moment he arrived. At the beginning she had turned red, had shied away from his tryst induced comments, but as they continued and became increasing bolder she found less shame in the vulgar mutterings. In fact, she sometimes found them encouraging and she would be brave enough to try something new to make him utter more of them. A way of achieving self serving compliments; of course Sansa just needed to open her legs and moan deeply at his thrusts in order to receive them.

On top of the compliments, she was no longer afraid of his manhood, quickly taking it in hand and settling his not-so-poor manhood into her sheath. He had more than once placed her in a position where she had to take the springy member in hand, pushing it between her legs. At first she felt like the whores of Lord Baelish's previous house, a place where Tyrion had gone on occasion to fetch miscellaneous papers of the previous Master of Coin. A place where she found she was worried he would be stuck and not come back to her. Not that she worried he would find her unattractive and in want of a better, more matched partner, but because she needed an heir and she needed his seed to get one. It would do little good in the belly of a prostitute.

Sansa pushed these thoughts from mind as she pressed his hardness against the insides of her sheath. She shuddered as he filled her again, though he had only pulled away moments before. She was less afraid of the closeness, found the joy in pushing his cock between her small, barely used walls. Tyrion groaned as she sat back.

"You are so beautiful, Sansa," he looked up at her, his hands running down her belly as she rocked on his cock. He closed his eyes as she pushed him further into her depths. She could feel the hardness of his manstaff pressing against a particularly delightful area of her insides which caused her to let out a shaky breath.

"Was I not pleasing you upon my back?" Sansa asked through the small grunt.

She asked in politeness because she knew she pleased him best when his cock was buried deep within her hips, though she waned in this confidence from time to time when she would wonder what would happen if he lost interest. He would lose interest in the young, green woman she was, unable to please with her mouth or hands, and he would go to his whore. And then he would lose interest in his whores. _Just as he lost interest in Shae_. He could abandon her just as he had abandoned her hand maid. Tyrion's hips sent his hardness deeper into her body bringing her back into the moment; she realized she had slowed down as she was lost in thought.

"No, no, Sansa," He reached his hands between her legs. "I just like to see you above me, your eyes closing when I can _please you_." His forefinger was rubbing against the spot he seemed to know so well between her legs. She found herself leaning over to rest her hands on the curve of his chest. He laughed. "And your tits bouncing is a pleasant sight for me as well."

Sansa could not respond as he was running his fingers along her small hill, causing the pleasure in her belly to grow. She was trying to please him before he could bring her to a second climax. He had not been given his release, and she felt wrong in taking another from him.

Feeling confident, she grabbed hold of the wrist of the hand which rubbed her pleasure spot and pulled it away. Tyrion looked up at her with a wicked smile, always pleased when she did something during the midnight trysts; her initiations were few and far between. She would not be able to bring him to a climax first, though, if he was working both her pleasure points.

Sansa took the hand in hers, pressing her palms against his. She then wove her fingers between his shorter, thicker ones. He lifted his other hand up to allow her to do the same. Sansa held both his hands as she moved up and down his shaft, gripping his hands more tightly as her pleasure began to build.

Her breaths were nasal grunts as her body screamed in pleasure, and she should change her position so she could last herself. But the feeling was too great, and she instead pressed his cock more deeply against her walls.

"Oh, my little bird, you have learned this song well." Tyrion heaved in delight.

"Are you pleased," she asked, gripping his hands tighter as she was beginning to lose her mind to ecstasy.

"Sansa, you would please me more if you told me the last secret your bury which was troubling you." He joined her bob with his own thrust and Sansa lost control, going over the edge again, her inner walls shaking with contentment.

"Oh, my lord," she coughed as she collapsed forward on his chest. He took her head in his hands, kissing her lips, pulling the gentle skin of her pink lower lip. He was still impossibly strong between her legs. _My charms have failed an d he has grown used to my body_.

"I have been honest, my lord." Sansa propped herself up on his chest. His manhood had slid out of her body when she leaned over.

"My beautiful queen, put me back between your legs and lie with convincing movements." He groaned. Sansa reached back, his manstaff slicker and harder. She placed it back into her throbbing womanhood, not sure she could reach another moment of happiness.

"Are you trying to teach me how to be one of those whores at the pleasure house you go to in order to fetch the ledgers?" Sansa asked, trying to avoid the prodding. "Using my body to lie".

Tyrion caught her wrist. "Only mine," he pushed into her with vigor. "I dare catch you near Littlefinger's—"

"I thought Lord Baelish was gone, what would he want with me?" Sansa leaned over, placing a kiss on his mouth. Working her hips. Lying to him by using his cock as an earpiece.

"He would want his sneaky little arse on that throne, Sansa. There are reasons you should not trust him." Tyrion pushed into her with a grunt.

"And how am I to trust you?" Sansa asked.

"Because I am the one with my cock up your cunt, and I did not—this is not the time, Sansa."

He quieted her by returning his thumb to her small hill. Sansa grabbed his wrist again. She moved her hips in a circle, a move she had accidentally performed a week prior to keep her larger hips from falling off his smaller frame. He had growled at her then, liking the movement, but she had been too shy to repeat it.

"I do not know the tricks of a whore," Sansa replied. "I only was trained to be a lady."

"And a beautiful, delicious lady you are." Tyrion affirmed, pushing into her. "Now do that again, your lord husband liked it."

Sansa moved her hips in a circle again. Tyrion threw his head back with eyes shut closed, so she did it again. _Distractions._ She realized if she could do something to keep his mind from her uneasiness, perhaps he would stop inquiring _But I will not be atop his manstaff tomorrow, what am I to do when we are clothed and he is watching?_

"Oh, Sansa," he groaned as she pressed her bum against his legs. "Oh, my love."

The sincere nickname again caused her to pause, enough for him to return his thumb to her small hill and rub quickly. Sansa was calling out in a pleasured coughing sound, a whine escaping afterwards. Her body was shaking as he pressed into her quivering slit, hitting her second sweet spot.

"Sansa," He reached up for her. She leaned over, expecting him to press a hand over her mouth. She had called out again, signaling to the castle that though she was an inexperienced young girl, he husband could work the secret curves between her legs like an expert. She felt her body shaking further with more pleasure. She was a fool to think she could become his whore to distract him. He knew her body before she even bared it to him; she had found his purple erection terrifying to look at until a few weeks ago. Sansa let out a muffled screaming moan as he worked her over the edge she did not think she would reach again. She grabbed handfuls of his curling hair, pulling. His head tilted back, his fingers working her round breasts as he kissed her neck.

Tyrion pulled her close and was kissing her mouth messily as he pushed in and out of her. She soon felt him releasing into her, his manhood placing more of his warm seed into the cup of her already impregnated body. He was willing to give more than she needed, as dedicated to the cause as she. Though perhaps for different motives. She kissed him again without real thought, her tongue joining his. She should be ashamed at how close she was to him. She should be pulling away, but she lay atop him with his cock still in her.

His hand was running over her cheek, his thumb brushing her high cheekbone as she settled against his shoulder. He turned his head to kiss her temple. "Sansa, I do not deserve such a wife like you."

"Shhh," Sansa kissed his neck, her fingers playing with the small curls of his blond hair. "Just stay quiet."

"If you wish, my lady." He pressed another kiss into her temple, pulling him close to her body. He began to move in and out of her body again.

Sansa was not sleepy, but she allowed herself to relax against his smaller, warmer body. Her hair curtained her back and shoulders as she drifted off into her thoughts. This was the last time she would be shuddering atop his body. Perhaps she would have to find another husband when the game was over; she was certain that she would not find the same contentment in his cock as she found in Tyrion's. She should be ashamed for finding pleasure in the shaft of a lion, but she could not deny that he knew her so well. And she was finding no shame in beginning to understand what made him moan beneath her. How she was learning to work her body to bring him a happiness; any other happiness she was learning from whispers he was denied because of his stature. And she knew what it was to be denied joy, to be stripped of comfort because of things she could not control. He was sad and she was sad, and together they were able to donate some gift of carnal contentment. Even if she could not take all he said to heart.

How was she going to be able to leave him? How was she going to find the strength.

 _Stop it, Sansa. Sometimes love is not enough_. She pressed her eyelids together, forcing her chest to rise and fall with deep breaths as she feigned sleep. _This is the last time. Just understand. I was born to play the game; and I shall use all the tactics given me. And I will use the lessons my lord husband has taught me. A good queen adapts to survive. And in this game ladies must use their facilities to keep their heads on their necks. And my heart is not one of my talents._


	22. Swords

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are literal quotes from the book and the plot is the same as in A Storm of Swords for the next couple chapters, so again, NOTHING BELONGS TO ME REALLY. ALL BELONGS TO THE HEARTBREAKER GRR MARTIN. K.
> 
> Also: SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS outside the show. You've been warned! And I hope you enjoy- Lydia

Sansa awoke the next morning to an empty bed. She stretched her arms out over the bare mattress, her head groggy from little sleep. She was expected to get up and bathe in order to be ready for the breakfast that would take place before the wedding, butdid not want to rise from the sheets, and thought about complaining to Tyrion that the baby was making her tummy sick. He would let her stay here with that excuse, he would probably stay in himself and that would do neither of them good.

So Sansa pushed her exhausted body from the sheets. She had stayed up a little later than Tyrion had, pulling herself from his grip. She had to write him something, to explain what she was feeling when she was not there to do so. So she had written by light of a candle in his solar, leaving the letter tucked away in one of the books which sat on the desk. He would find it later there.

Shae and another handmaiden came into the room as Sansa rose from bed. They carried buckets of steaming water into the room. Sansa spied the tub which the two of them had brought in while she must have been sleeping. The two maid quickly filled the wooden bath and Sansa looked forward to the warm water as she shivered in the cool morning air. She did not wear much more than a robe, and hoped the two servants were not curious about her lack of modest dress.

"Come, m'lady," Shae looked at her with little patience, waving her toward the tub.

"Where did my lord husband go off to?" Sansa asked as she walked to the two. The other handmaiden pulled her robe from her body

"How am I to know where his lordship is? I am your keeper, not his." Shae replied. Sansa shook her head.

"There is no reason for the disrespect, Shae. I merely asked in chance you might have seen him in your passing," The fact that she was looking at a woman who had slept with her husband made Sansa even more bold. She did not understand the sudden boost in confidence, or irritation, since he would go back to whoring once she had left him.

'I am sorry, m'lady." Shae held out a hand for Sansa to take to settle into the tub.

The water was warm as she settled into it, her body shudder as the cold left her aching muscles. Shae and the other maiden went to work scrubbing Sansa's body and hair clean. Sansa felt the rough scratches and pulling of hair which Shae inflicted. _Women are always so petty, we cannot wage wars so we torment instead_.

The door opened as Shae and the maiden finished washing Sansa's hair. Tyrion stepped into the room, looking as tired and distracted as she guessed she did. When he noticed the two handmaidens helping wife from the tub, he turned to command his squire to stand outside the door. Sansa was thankful that he could still respect whatever bit of modesty she had left. He went to filling his wine glass as the ladies began to dress the Stark girl.

Tyrion smiled up at her as he approached. "You look as beautiful as ever,"

"And you will want to have Podrick dress you so you can match," Sansa replied as the maids tied her dress. The boy came when he heard Sansa use his name, though he still trembled and averted his eyes just in case.

"I am certain that it will merely be my handsome clothes which will match. But if my wife insists." Tyrion replied. "Come, Pod, let us make me presentable for my lady wife's company."

Sansa frowned. She did not like that he was so cruel to himself. He was kind to her, could he not accept that she wanted to give him a little kindness as well. _I have let him lay between my legs so many times, is it not a token of thank you, a payment for the debts I have owed?_

Sansa's hair was pulled into an elegant braided bun pressed to the back of her head when Tyrion returned in his new doublet. She smiled down at her little lord husband who stood just a little taller and looked just a little better in the garment.

"How are you feeling this morning, my lady?" Tyrion asked as he approached her, a wine cup in his hand.

"I am well, my lord," she really wanted to beg off. "Do you think it wise to drink so early? There will be wine at the breakfast."

"Ah, I am sure there will be, Sansa, but even with you by my side I do not want to face my family sober."

Sansa sighed, she supposed old habits were not easy to break. Especially if one has no true motive or an even greater motive to do so.

"I suppose it is time we made our way to the most joyous of wedding breaking of fasts ."

"Yes, my lord," Sansa replied.

"Come, Sansa, give me your beautiful smile or I shall not be able to bear at all." He took her hand gently in his. Sansa did her best to give him a genuine smile, but the nerves in her belly were keeping true happiness from welling up to her face.

"It will do, my beautiful lady wife. I am sure you are no more excited to sit among the lions than I am." He held her hand as he walked with her to the Queen's ballroom to share gifts and break the fast with the soon to be wed king.

* * *

Sansa sat quietly as she watched the men and few ladies break their fast with blackberries and nuts, autumn pears, a Dornish egg dish, gammon steaks, bacon, fish—the assault of smells which turned her tummy. She felt ill at the sight of half the dishes and worried later about the bountiful courses at the wedding. She supposed she would be pardoned if she did not eat all of them, but it was the smell of them which scared her.

"One would think we are to be deprived of food tonight at the feast." Tyrion commented as he sat next to her. Sansa smiled down at him politely.

The room was abuzz with musicians and Moon Boy, and even Ser Dontos who all provided entertainment. Of course the room had to be filled when she most wanted to be left alone. She took to the eggs which covered the plate before her, trying her best to think of other things aside from her rocking stomach.

"Are you sure you well, Sansa?" Tyrion looked up at her. Sansa nodded her head.

"Yes, my lord. I am just a little sleepy and my tummy hurts because of it." She responded. Tyrion nodded his head; she could see he realized that she wished to be left alone.

Tyrion turned from her to another cup of wine. Sansa herself kept company with a warm flagon of milk, but it grieved her to see him drink so much. She did not want him to make a scene at the wedding. She might not be able to break him of his habit, but she did not want to be a victim of it either.

So she turned back to her eggs, picking at them with her fork. She took a bit and immediately reached for the milk as the spices burned her tongue. She drank deeply, trying to wash away the stinging. Her eyes watered at the taste. Sansa decided it might be more wise to stick with the pears. They did not scald her tongue nor did their smell turn her stomach. She supposed she may be more hungry for the courses later. _Assuming I do not lose it watching his lordship wed_.

She found that the honeycakes on her plate also did no harm to her tummy and filled an increased appetite. Tyrion must have noticed as well, as he signaled over servants to fill the items of her plate which emptied. He might have begun to become drunk, but he still paid her particular attention. Sansa could not help but be flattered by the close watch he kept. She did not, however, enjoy the glances which the soon to be king gave her. She shuddered under Joff's glares as he looked across the way from her.

Sansa had eaten a satisfied filling of cakes before the dishes were cleared. Cersei had left before the servants had taken away the food, but presently returned with a faded wife's coat. She handed it to him solemnly. "It is the cloak I donned when Robert took me for queen, the same cloak my mother Lady Joanna wore when wed to my lord father." In Sansa's opinion, the robe was threadbare and ugly, but assumed its beauty must lie in its sentiment.

Next it was time for gifts. Sansa was curious as to what she and Tyrion had gotten the foolish boy for his wedding, she had not succeeded in wrestling the exact answer from her husband. Though, she had given little thought to what they would present to the couple tomorrow morning; she hoped that Tyrion would spare them embarrassment and had prepared something. _He is clever. He would get something which would give us great honor…not that it would matter so much to me._ Sansa glanced down to her husband who watched on with an unsatisfied frown. Sansa reached below the table, placing her hand gently on his thigh. Tyrion looked over at her, his hands unfolding from across his chest and one joining her hand beneath the table. His grip was tight, but comforting.

The two watched with joined hands as Joffrey received a golden wooded bow and quiver of arrows with green and scarlet feathers from Jalabhar Xho, Lady Tanda gave the boy a pair of riding boots, Ser Kevan gave a red leather jousting saddle with it. _How I wish I could see him unseated from that_. Sansa though. She wanted nothing more but to leave as the gifts kept coming. She almost lost her morning breakfast when Joffrey was rewarded with a promised war galley which was to be named "Joffrey's Valor". Sansa questioned if that was perhaps his only valor. Joffrey responded immediately with how he would use the ship to destroy his uncle Stannis.

Sansa watched as Tyrion presented their gift to the king. The book he offered forward was rather large and looked old, it was called _Lives of Four Kings_ and was bound in beautiful leather. Joffrey looked at the gift with a scowl.

"And what is this, Uncle?" Joffrey inquired.

Sansa wanted to respond that it was a book, and was he capable of even reading?, but the king looked angry and she knew he was never one she should jape with.

"Grand Maester Kaeth's history of the reigns of Daeron the Young Dragon, Balor the Blessed, Aegon the Unworthy, and Daeron the Good," Tyrion spoke rather calmly for the grief which his nephew gave him. Sansa had let go of his hand, and she found that she wrung them nervously in her lap.

"My father had no time for books," Joffrey laughed and pushed the book across the table, clearly unsatisfied. "If you read less, Uncle Imp, perhaps Lady Sansa would have a baby in her belly by now."

The laughs which filled the room struck not only Tyrion, but Sansa felt harmed at the japes made at the expense of her lord husband. She knew that others laughed only in duty, but she still was sorry for the cruelty.

She blanched when Joffrey turned to her next. "Don't be sad, Sansa, once I've gotten Queen Margaery with child I'll visit your bedchamber and show my little uncle how it is done."

Sansa's heart fluttered in fear. Tyrion next to her was red with anger, but he knew better than to say anything. She knew that he wished to speak forward about what he would do to his nephew's little manhood if he came anywhere near Sansa. The night of nightmares returned to Sansa and she pressed a cold hand to her cheek. She felt her husband take hold of the other which lay in her lap, squeezing it tightly.

When Joffrey was distracted by Mace Tyrell's gift, Tyrion leaned over and whispered, "He will not touch you, Sansa. Do not worry yourself with nightmares." And Sansa knew she could believe him. She squeezed his hand back, allowing him a small smile.

She looked back to the front of the table to see Joffrey receive a golden chalice three feet tall with ornately curved handles and seven faces made with glittering gemstones: a ruby lion, emerald rose, onyx stag, silver trout, blue jade falcon, opal sun, and a pearl direwolf.

"A splendid cup, but we'll need to chip the wolf off and put a squid in its place, I think." Joffrey looked over at Sansa. "Would you like if I brought you the wolf as a reminder, my lady, when I come to visit."

Sansa pretended she did not hear what he had said. She looked away, setting her jaw so as not to cry.

"What would Sansa want with a wolf? She is a lion now," Tyrion responded. Joffrey huffed once more.

"Margaery and I shall drink deep at the feast," Joffrey turned the attention back to himself as he held the chalice above his head for all to see.

"The damned thing's as tall as I am," Tyrion muttered. "Half a chalice and he will be falling down drunk."

"Good, perhaps he will break his neck." Sansa muttered back.

The hall quieted once again when Lord Tywin presented his own gift to the king: a longsword made of cherrywood, gold, and oiled red leather. The weapon was studded with golden lions' heads, lions with ruby eyes. All watched in amazement as Joffrey unsheathed the blade and thrust the blade above his head. The red and black ripples in the Valyrian steel shimmered in the light. Compliments were thrown Joffrey's way about the sword's magnificence. It was decided by the haughty king that his new sword would be christened "Widow's Wail" as it would make many a widow and would cut his uncle Stannis' 'magical' sword in two.

"If only the bearer was half as honorable," Sansa whispered to her small husband. He nodded his head in agreement.

"Have a care, Your Grace," Ser Addam Marbrand cried out. "Valyrian steel is preciously sharp."

"I remember," Joffrey brought the steel down on the book which Tyrion had selected for him. Sansa let out a gasp she could not contain as she saw the cover break in two under the sharpness of the blade.

"Sharp! I told you I am no stranger to Valyrian steel," Joffrey laughed as he continued to hack away at the book. Sansa's heart broke for Tyrion as she watched on in horror. After half a dozen cuts the book was fully destroyed. Joffrey stood over the book, panting and glowing with pride.

Tyrion was shifting in the seat next to her in anger. Sansa wanted to embrace him, cry into his shoulder as she carried the tears for the two of them. Tyrion's gift was most likely expensive and valuable; it was foolish for Joffrey to have such little care. Sansa held tighter to her lord husband's hand as the two watched the king whip his sword around his guests' heads.

Ser Garlan Tyrell spoke up. "Your Grace, perhaps you did not know. In all of Westeros there were but four copies of that book illuminated in Kaeth's own hand."

"Now there are three." Joffrey replaced the old swordbelt with the new.

Sansa's heart rendered even further as she was confirmed in her guess that the book was valuable. She felt a tear slip down the side of her face, she quickly wiped it away. This was cruelty, for such a man to attack his own house. _The honor of Lannisters._

"You and Lady Sansa owe me a better present, Uncle Imp. This one is all chopped to pieces." Joffrey pointed at the two. Sansa felt her bowels quiver, but Tyrion was a quick as ever as he stared down his nephew.

"Perhaps a knife, sire. To match your sword. A dagger of the same fine Valyrian steel….with a dragonbone hilt?"

"You…yes a dagger to match my sword, good." He nodded his head, his blue eyes sharp with fury. "And a gold hilt with rubies in it. Dragonbone is too plain."

"As you wish, Your Grace." Tyrion replied as he drowned himself in another cup of wine. He did not look at Sansa until the others began to leave the table.

"I am sorry, about the book," Sansa offered him a low apology.

"Did you break it in two?" Tyrion asked. Sansa was surprised by his anger, though she knew she should not have been.

"No, my lord—I meant—"

"Do not worry, Sansa. You have no fault in this. I appreciate your shared grief, but offer no apologies if you are not responsible." He pushed himself from his chair, turning to offer his hand.

She took it, standing and gripping her skirt with the other hand. She walked with him to their carriages. The two were intercepted by Prince Oberyn, and his lover Ellia Sand, when they crossed the yard. The prince offered forth his condolences over the destruction of the book and spoke of its history with Tyrion. Ellia spoke with Sansa as she all the while stared admirably at her lover. Tyrion excused he and Sansa when the two neared their litter. He helped her up into the litter, following after her awkwardly.

"Sansa, you should close the curtains."

"But Tyrion, it is so lovely a day out," Sansa looked up at the blue sky and billowing clouds. It would be a much better sight to see and to keep in her memory instead of being forced to remember the wedding.

"The people of King's Landing are not too fond of the man who is taking their money in strides. They are more like to thrown dung at the litter if they see me inside."

"As you wish," Sansa closed the curtains and felt the heat begin to fill the small compartment. She looked across to her husband when she had settled into her seat. "I will apologize, Tyrion, for allowing you to become the target because of me."

"I have always been a target. My marriage to you did not create one." Tyrion frowned. "Although, it is a shame about the book. Perhaps Joffrey could have learned something if he had read it. But you were right, I should have known better."

"Joffrey should have been pleased with the gift you gave him," Sansa crawled forward to place a kiss on his lips. She then lay across the litter, resting her head upon his lap. The heat was making her drowsy, and since she could not look at the sun perhaps she could drift to sleep. "I am sure the dagger will please him more."

She felt Tyrion's hand sweep over a lock of hair near her temple which had fallen loose. "Perhaps, my love." The swaying of the litter rocked the two. "Tell me, Sansa, was there any ill feeling between Joffrey and Bran, I know Joffrey fought with Robb at Winterfell."

"Bran?" Sansa tried to remember, but it was so long ago. "No, I do not think my brother is capable of being hated. He was always so sweet and everyone love him. He loved to play with Tommen—but that was before he fell. Why?"

"The dagger just brings to light some past happenings which I will explain when it is not so tender a topic." He gentle stroked her cheek. "You loved your brothers, much as I loved Jaime."

Sansa was unsure of how to respond. Her immediately reaction was denounce her family, to claim it was treason to love a traitor. But she knew he would be unpleased with that reaction. "I am sure, my lord."

"One day, Sansa, I will tell you all that has happened beyond King's Landing, when it would break your heart less."

"I am not sure I would want the honesty, my lord."

"Then I will not if you wish not. I do not wish to give you bad dreams."

"That is kind, my lord."

"Hush, Sansa, and rest. We have yet to endure today's real torture."

Sansa obeyed, and slowly her eyes closed at the litter rocked her gently, her head pillowed on her lord husband's lap.


	23. Cloaking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, more direct quotes from the book (though not as many this time) and similar plots.

Tyrion had not wanted to wake his wife who had drifted into a peaceful sleep upon his lap. Her perfectly pink mouth had curved into a natural smile as she slumbered, and he found her even more beautiful to look at in the daylight. But he knew that Joffrey would only be more angry after the disappointment of a wedding gift he received from the pair if he and Sansa not stand with the other lords and ladies to see Margaery receive what the king believed was thrust from Sansa's hands. _Foolish boy does not realize that Sansa is wise enough to know she does not want to be queen in the midst of this bloody war. Though, perhaps she would be the salvation you need_. After all, she had been _his_ salvation, had she not?

Sansa's nap proved to refresh her weary look about her face as she blinked her blue eyes awake. Tyrion smiled as he brushed his thumb over the pattern his trousers had made on her rosy cheek. She was still groggy when she sat upwards, yawning. Her sleepiness replaced by a sickened look as she remembered where the two were to be. Tyrion smiled at her once more, pulling her closer to him by cradling her chin between his stubby thumb and forefinger, gently kissing the indentation on her skin. The two then left the litter together, walking hand in hand into the church behind the other couples.

The sept was packed, unlike Sansa's and his own wedding, with the high ladies and lords of the court. Though the view was not on the beautiful gowns which adorned the just as attractive women ( _Though Sansa would steal my eye. What a fool in love I have become_.), because all were turned to face the King and Queen who stood together before the High Septon. The Septon whose old smashed crown was replaced by an extravagant new one atop his balding head. A gift from his father to honor his beloved nephew, no doubt. Tyrion tried to stifle a groan as he watched the crown throwing off rainbow lights and flashes as it moved under the brilliant sun behind him. Before him was the couple, side-by-side between the towering gilded Father and Mother.

Margaery's brown hair was pulled atop her head and allowed her dress to remain uncovered; a beautiful gown of ivory silk and Myrish lace and skirts decorated in floral patterns and seed pearls. She wore the colors of the Tyrells, her maiden's cloak decorated with hundreds of gold cloth roses sewn to green velvet. He wondered why the maiden wife of Renly Baratheon did not approach the throne in the gold and black of her late husband, and future husband's, house colors. Though Tyrion had confided in Sansa that he did not think her a virgin, especially after learning from his wife one night what she had said about the complexities of a woman's pleasure. Joffrey was not like to know whether she had fucked a hundred men or just him, so Tyrion did not see the point in coming up with a conclusion. She would most assuredly not remain a virgin after tonight.

His arrogant nephew stood next to his bride in a doublet of dusky rose and a cloak of deep crimson velvet with the combined sigils of a stag and a lion. He wore the crown he did not deserve atop his pretty blond hair. He was a handsome boy, far too much so for such cruelty.

He could not help but look up at his wife for just a moment. She was dressed herself in a velvet and silk dress of crimson and gold, rearing lions patterned on her skirts. He smiled when she saw the hand resting atop her other bore the ruby lion ring he had given her. _I shall have a direwolf head made for her other hand, one to properly fit her delicate fingers. So she will not be forced to wear such colors and deny her silver._

Sansa had felt his gaze and looked down at him, smiling uncomfortably. Whether it was because of the situation or because of his staring he was unsure. He turned his attention back to the ceremony before him, though he had little interest in his nephew's marriage and later abuse of his fair wife. Perhaps it was unfair to predict that Margaery would have a doomed end; she proved to be a clever and resourceful girl, though Tyrion would not allow the queen to use his wife as her personal pawn any longer. Sansa needed time to grow, to be left out of all forms of torments. He recalled the words Cersei had said to him about giving Sansa a baby; perhaps she would find some love in the child. If she could never come to love him, she could love what he gave her.

Since she had so much taken from her by his blood. When Joffrey had suggested the dagger earlier that morning, Tyrion understood how Joffrey was involved with the tragedy which was meant to befall Bran, but instead hurt Lady Catelyn. Remove another Stark, remove another threat. Joffrey must have bought himself foul company to accompany the king's party as it went North. Must have given them one of his witless father's hunting knives; Robert never did pay much attention to his extravagant collection of weapons. Joffrey would not be so foolish as to leave evidence that it was his own. Or perhaps the cuthroat had stolen one from Robert's wagon which was to be sure loaded with weapons in case of danger on the journey. More likely Joff had given it to him, where else would the killer have gotten Littlefinger's blade?

Then that same one must have tried to slit the boy's neck that night. Of course they were not expecting the vigilant Stark mother to be in the room. _As much as Catelyn was a Tulley, she would never let harm come to her direwolf pup. She would fight like a direwolf bitch to spare her young's life._ Tyrion glanced up to Sansa once again and knew that she would do the same for hers. She was a strong girl, even if she fooled others into believing she were helpless.

 _Oh Sansa, why can my family not leave you be. They have forced you into a lion's clothes, now let them leave you to the little lion._ Tyrion scratched his scar as he brooded over his wife's treatment. The fact that it was Littlefinger's knife felt like a bad omen to the small man. Littlefinger seemed to have his hand, purposefully or incidentally, in the betrayals of the lone Stark's family. He prayed that the news she received from Littlefinger was in earnest and that he was merely letting her know he was coming back to depose her husband of his position of Master of Coin. The sooner the better, Tyrion decided.

And no doubt with the clue he had given his nephew regarding the blade at breakfast, his usually dimwitted nephew knew he was in on what had happened to Bran Stark. What he had almost taken the blame for. But perhaps he should have; a better way to pay back Sansa what had been done to her. Or maybe the baby was better. He shook the thoughts from his head as his ears were filled with the seven vows followed by the wedding song.

Tyrion was able to see through his father and his uncle Kevan long enough to watch Mace Tyrell remove his daughter's maiden cloak as Joffrey took his bride's cloak from young Tommen's hands. Joffrey shook the cloak out to allow it to open to drape neatly over his bride's back. Joffrey was capable, however, of placing the cloak over Margaery's back without forcing his queen to her knees to do so. His nephew was able to humiliate him further outside of cruel words. The cloak was fastened and Margaery was now under Joffrey's protection. Of course, who could really protect her when she was the wife of a hated king?

"With this kiss I pledge my love!" Joffrey cried out, Margaery echoing just as cheerfully. The two shared a long and deep kiss. Sansa shifted next to Tyrion uncomfortably. No doubt she was thinking back to their chaste kiss, done only for duty and not for love. Though, were Joffrey and Margaery truly in love either? _Margaery is just a better actor than you were, love, but you are catching on quickly._

His wife stirred as the ceremony ended; she looked red in the face and gasping for air. Tyrion grabbed hold of her hand, his thumb rubbing over her fingers. She looked down at him, her eyes still wide and sad but less like she was going to choke.

Ser Loras, Sansa's Knight of Flowers, and Ser Meryn led the procession from the sept in armor of white and snowy cloaks atop. Prince Tommen followed after scattering rose petals for the king and queen to walk upon. _There was no ceremony like this for my bride. Oh, poor Sansa. A lady worth a ceremony, but given a peasant's remembrance of a wedding._ Tyrion's sister and Lord Tyrell followed after the newly married couple, then Lady Tyrell and his father walked arm-in-arm afterward. The Queen of Thorns, old Lady Tyrell, hobbled out after leaning on Kevan Lannister's arm and her cane simultaneously, her guardsman followed closely. Ser Garlan Tyrell and his wife followed as Tyrion let go of Sansa's hand to extend his arm.

"My love," He said to her. She took hold of it, her hands wrapping around his forearm and leaning as heavily as she could with their differences in stature. Sansa did not look down at him, however, but kept looking straight ahead. _She looks as if she is to be sick_.

The cheering from the crowd filled the sept as they traveled through the now opened doors. The crowd's hatred for Joffrey was won over by their love for Margaery, the gentle and caring queen they believed her to be. Even though her father was to blame for the famine in the city as he had closed the roseroad and straved the city out.

The cool autumn air was a relief to his lungs. "I feared we would never escape," Tyrion looked up at Sansa.

Sansa looked down, her blue eyes wet with unshed tears, her chest heaving. "It was very beautiful, my lord. Despite having to…" She did not finish.

"You should have been given better, Sansa. Though, not so long a ceremony. The standing was becoming unbearable, and I drank far too much wine this morning." He shifted uncomfortably. "Littlefinger was clever to leave the city to avoid this. We should have left for Casterly Rock."

"With what excuse, my lord?" Sansa asked.

"We could have found one, Sansa." He was weary from standing and wanted to return to the castle for a piss and a meal. And some alone time with his wife before the ceremony. She looked unhappy, and he found he had the urge to fix her unhappiness. As much as he was able to, that was.

Joffrey and Margaery stood surrounded by the Kingsgaurd atop the steps in front of the broad marble plaza. Ser Addam and his gold cloaks held back the crowd, the statue of King Baelor the Blessed looked down on all benevolently. A beautiful picture for a malicious couple. Sansa was right, the good ones were not given just dues. Tyrion and Sansa reluctantly joined the queue to give their blessings and congratulations to the new couple. The line made their wishes short, though Sansa received a warm kiss from the new queen on the cheek, and a knowing glance was sent Tyrion's way. Tyrion shuddered under those big brown eyes; he did not want the queen to think he had joined in on her plan. He wanted to help Sansa play the board. He could care less what the newly crowned monarch wanted. He kissed the queen's fingers anyways and wished her all the happiness. Joff wished Sansa a happiness to be fulfilled later that night. Tyrion glared up at his nephew but the next guests had drawn the young king's attention away. Tyrion offered his arm once again to Sansa and the two left the crowded steps to return to their litter.

Sansa complied with his prior request and kept the curtains closed, though the air inside of the litter was hot because of it. Tyrion leaned back on the pillows as the carrier began to move. Sansa sat on her hip, her legs folded before. She was still saddened by whatever thoughts lay under her pile of hair. Looking upon her, Tyrion decided that Sansa was just as beautiful as Margaery, if perhaps more so. Her hair had grown a deeper auburn color under the rays of the sun, the hue complimenting her deep blue eyes. She was haunted by grief, but it only added to her exotic appearance. She would have beautiful daughters, nothing but comely children would come from her womb. Even if he soiled her with his ugly traits. Tyrion reached for her, and she bridged the barrier by taking her hand in his.

"I have spoken with Pod about arranging out trip to Casterly Rock. I am thinking we can leave the morning after next. We would not want to miss the breakfast honoring the first night of His Majesty and Her Highness."

"What a wonderful plan, my lord." Her words were filled with excited vocabulary, but her tone was anything but.

"We could delay a week, if you think it would be easier on you and the baby—" His suggestion caused her to let go of his hand. She winced as she dropped her eye line to her lap, pulling her hands in toward herself.

"Sansa, I wish to make you happy."

"Then can we not talk of Casterly Rock for the moment. I wish to get through this night."

"Of course, Sansa." Tyrion agreed reluctantly. She was probably just worried about Joffrey's threat. He knew that no matter how many times he reminded her that she was safe, and she was, she would still fear the arrogant king.

The rest of the journey was passed in silence, Tyrion watching over Sansa with worry, and she not being able to look up at him. He followed her solemnly through the halls back to their quarters where the two were to be redressed by Pod and Shae in preparation for the longest part of the day—the endurance of the never ending courses at King Joffrey and Lady Margaery's wedding feast


	24. Sign

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You should read this with "Summertime Sadness" and "Born to Die" by Lana del Rey placing in the background. Then play "A Thousand Years" by Christina Perri at the end, especially before leaving a review. See it as free therapy advice. Anyways- another chapter heavily, HEAVILY married to GRRM's book (there are only a couple more than I'll be beyond what the books have for dear Sansa so far!). This is also a REALLY long chapter, for which I apologize, but it is what it is. Thank you for the reads and the reviews. Over 100 reviews and 100 followers. That is really important.
> 
> Final note- There is a MAJOR spoiler in regards to Joffrey's wedding in this chapter. You waive all rights of being mad at me for including it if you read past here. Like, it's huge and world shattering. And I just wanted to make sure you were fully warned.
> 
> Happy Friday! ~Lydia

Sansa and Shae were left in silence while Pod readied Tyrion in another room of the apartment. Sansa ran her finger over the silver satin dress wrapped about her body, the one which had finally been chosen for the occasion. The dagged sleeves of the dress were draped across her lap as she wrung her hands nervously. She had not been prepared for the…the _intimacy_ of the occasion. She had come to some affection or another over her little lord husband, that she could not deny. _And he is madly in love with me_. Sansa's heart quivered as she thought this.

She turned her gaze back to the looking glass before her, she set her jaw and commanded her eyes to stop watering. It was a wedding, after all, tears were not welcome to such occasions. So she distracted her mind by watching Shae tuck the braids she had so artfully woven that morning into the netting of the silver hairnet, the purple gems arranged around the thread's crossings winked as she moved her head.

"A very beautiful hair piece, m'lady." Shae offered Sansa a sincere compliment. Sansa examined it with a sad smile.

"It has a certain quality," Sansa replied.

"Lady Sansa, you shall be the most beautiful woman in the hall tonight." Tyrion's voice caused her to stand and turn to face him. She grabbed her skirts between her fingers, ducking her head.

"My lord is too kind," Sansa humbly said. Though she knew that he believed it so. She had seen him sneaking glances at her throughout the wedding. She did all she could to keep from flushing a bright red.

"Are you certain I cannot serve at your table? I have heard the pigeon pie is to be so amusing," Shae pulled at the back of her dress, straightening imaginary wrinkles.

"The queen has chosen the servers—"

"—And the hall will be too crowded." Tyrion dismissed the question. Sansa looked down at him, he looked up from under the hood of his brow. A look of a boy found with his hands in the sweets in the kitchen halls. "What with all the musicians, and the tables, and the crowd."

"I am sorry, Shae. I will tell you all about it." Sansa lied. Tyrion took a step for her.

"Are you ready for battle, my lady?"

"If I must be," Sansa's chest deflated with a sigh, but she reached out and took her husband's arm.

* * *

He escorted her from their apartment to join the parade of elegantly dressed lords and ladies striding toward the throne room. Silk, satin, and velvet brushed against Sansa's dress as the two were swallowed by the river of important people. Sansa found her breath hard to catch, as if she were truly drowning. Her other arm reached across her body and gripped Tyrion's arm, she was barely conscious of the action.

The river swept them into the throne room where some guests were already sitting, others milling about the door, talking and enjoying the warmer weather. She followed Tyrion as he brought her around the yard so the couple could meet the necessary people. _Courtesy is my armour, my lord. I come girded well_.

And Sansa believed this as she spoke with each lady, giving a compliment when needed. She told Lord Gyles that his cough was sounding better, told Elinor Tyrell that her dress was beautiful. She even mustered up the courage to question Jalabhar Xho about weddings on the Summer Isles. _How I hate the talk of weddings. Things promised to be fond memories_. She thought bitterly as she nodded her head, a smile upon her face listening to Lord Jalabhar explain the ceremony between the bride and groom.

She was as surprised as she guessed Tyrion was at the appearance of Ser Lancel, who looked more a ghost than mortal. His soft golden hair had turned a brittle white, and he was unbelievably sick. Sansa tried to perk the bleeding soul up a bit by praising his valor and commenting about how good it was to see him getting strong, even if that were such a lie. But the compliment earned a smile from both Lancel and Ser Kevan. She even caught Tyrion watching her with a look of awe covering his rough features. She felt pride swell in her heart as she excelled in what she was taught.

 _Give me charms and wit instead of arrow and bow, and I know how to make them all fall on the battle field_. A gift she had learned from her gracious mother. A pang of loss hit Sansa as she thought of her mother.

"You do look quite exquisite, child," Lady Olenna Tyrell lay a hand on Sansa. Sansa turned, letting go of Tyrion's arm, to look at the old lady who wore a heavy looking cloth-of-gold gown. She was bent over by the weight. "The wind has been at your hair though." The woman extended her hand.

Sansa bent over so she could reach at the loose strands, the old finger pulling at the hairnet in the process. "I was very sorry to hear about your losses. Your brother was a terrible traitor, I know, but if we start killing men at weddings they'll be even more frightened of marriage than they are presently." Lady Olenna ran her hand down Sansa's cheek gently when she finished, smiling up at the girl. "I will be leaving for Highgarden the day after next. I have had quite enough of this smell city. Perhaps you would like to accompany me for a little visit while the men are off having their war? I shall miss my Margaery so dreadfully, and all her lovely ladies. Your company would be such sweet solace."

"You are too kind, my lady," she replied, though she would have loved to Highgarden if truth be told. _All those knights and puppies still_. She was weary of the memories. "but my place is with my husband.

"Forgive a silly old woman, my lord. I did not mean to steal your lady wife. I assumed you would be off leading a Lannister host against some wicked foe." Lady Olenna now addressed Tyrion.

"I am afraid I shall be at the book as the master of the coin must see the armies are paid for. Though I am thinking about taking Sansa to Casterly Rock while the wedding ceremonies fade in the city."

Sansa's cheeks burned with his honesty. He did realize the more he talked of her and he stealing moments together, the more people might suggest the two are fond of one another? _No, he is not thinking with his head again. And he is_ quite _fond of me_. Though, she did find some confidence in her husband's subtle bragging of being with her. She could not deny that she felt more comforted knowing she was wanted somewhere in King's Landing. And not dead.

Sansa had missed the small exchange between Tyrion and Lady Olenna when she heard Tyrion pardon the two. "It is time we were in our places."

"Myself as well. Seventy-seven courses, I daresay? Don't you find that a bit excessive, my lord? I shan't eat more than three or four bites myself, but you and I are very little, aren't we?" Lady Olenna patted Sansa's cheek again. "Well, off with you, child, and try to be merrier." She then called for her twin guardsmen to escort her to the dais.

Sansa blinked when she came from the sun into the throne room, though there was no need for it. The room was lit with torches burning in every place possible. She stood with Tyrion along the table as they waited for the heralds to call out the name and titles of the lords and ladies making their entrance. The gallery above was packed with musicians; drummers, pipers, fiddlers, strings, and horns.

Sansa and Tyrion followed one of the royal liveries to their place at the dais when she was startled by the entrance of Joffrey and Margaery riding into the throne room on twin white charges. Pages danced before them, throwing rose petals under the beasts' hooves. Joffrey was now outfitted in a cloth of gold doublet with black satin sleeves and onyx studs, matched with striped black and crimson breeches. Margaery continued to exhibit her beauty as she wore a revealing pale green samite, a tight laced bodice bared her shoulders and the tops of her breasts. Her undone brown hair tumbled softly over her shoulders and danced in the breeze almost to her waist. And atop her head was a slim golden crown. Sansa had a fleeting thought about how that crown could have been hers. But it did not last long as she thought of the man she would have been joined to if she had taken it.

The king and queen were brought to the seats of honor on the dais in the shadow of the Iron Throne which was draped with silk streamers of Baratheon gold, Lannister crimson, and Tyrell green. Cersei embraced Margaery and kissed her two cheeks, only in expectation as Sansa saw the bitterness in her eyes. Lord Tywin did the same, then Lancel and Ser Kevan. Joffrey's wicked face was kissed by Lord and Lady Tyrell and their two sons, Loras and Garlan. Sansa was relieved that she was not brought into this show of power. She was quite tired of it, to be honest. She was content to take her seat next to Tyrion on the far right to the king, beside Garlan Tyrell and his wife, Lady Leonette. Tyrion had made a mutterance about how it should be seen as a blatant sign of disrespect that she and he sat so far away. But she knew Tyrion was as glad as she was that they were not any closer.

"Let the cups be filled!" Joffrey proclaimed when the rituals to the gods were done. A cup bearer poured wine into the chalice Joffrey had been given as a gift. Sansa was glad to see the direwolf's face intact as she watched the king take both hands to lift the cup, addressing his toast to his queen. The hall chanted back her name, hailing her queen before toasting through the clinking of cups. She noticed Tyrion had downed his cup quickly as the two took their seats when the honors were done.

Sansa was served the first dish, a soup of mushroom and buttered snails in a gilded bowl. Her tummy rumbled, but she found the smell of the snails unappealing. Her husband, on the other hand, had not. She took a polite sip of the soup and pushed it away.

"Does your…tummy not agree?" Tyrion laughed, implying her womb's condition and not her stomachs.

Sansa made a face. "I am saving room for all the dishes, my lord. I have a little tummy." She raised her eyebrows at him. She had noticed his glance go to the married women around the hall, resting upon a wife heavy with child and her beaming husband. _Does he wish to be so…so in love and close?_

Tyrion looked back at her with a smile. He had that hungry look back in his eyes, but it was not fiery and hot; it was warm and enclosing. She could only lean forward to place a chaste kiss on his mouth to try and quench it. _And you worried about your husband telling Lady Olenna about Casterly Rock._ She thought bitterly after she did so But it was quick, and perhaps no one had seen.. Tyrion called for more wine when she had pulled away.

The courses were served at a head spinning speed, and the smells turned Sansa's stomach more than they pleased them. The singers of the hall did not help her as their repeated songs made her head hurt even more. She found herself drinking more wine than was normal, though the taste was bit off to her. She was glad when the hot oatbread baked with date and apples and oranges in its filling arrived; she inhaled the food quickly. Tyrion laughed and teased her about it, forcing her to smile. He asked if he should order her more since her tummy found its new appetite. She rolled her eyes and went back to "watching" the singers.

"So which did you prefer?"

"What?" Sansa turned to look at him.

"The singers. Which did you prefer." Tyrion looked over the brim of his cup as he took a sip, waiting for her reply.

"I was not listening very well, or paying attention to when one has ended and another began."

"Sansa, is something wrong?" He asked her with concern when he had finished his sip.

"I am just tired, my lord, I am sure you understand." She turned to the food before her, trying to find something which would not disagree. She was rather hungry.

She did begin to pay attention when the pyromancers took the stage, followed by a juggler with swords and axes. The hair raising thrills were something to actually cause amusement. But not like the amendments her husband made to the singer, Galyeon of Cuy's song. What had made the moment more merry was when Lord Garlan joined her little lord husband. For a fleeting moment, Sansa felt like a normal girl in a feast hall, making merry jests and smiling. The feeling did not stay, as she could sense Joffrey's eyes upon her. She turned back to her cup.

"Perhaps you should be a singer, my lord," Lady Leonette addressed Tyrion. Sansa turned to listen. "You rhyme as well as this Galyeon."

"No, my lady," Ser Garlan said. "My lord of Lannister was made to do great deeds, not to sing of them. But for his chain and his wildfire, the foe would have been across the river. And if Tyrion's wildlings had not slain most of Lord Stannis' scots, we would never have been able to take them unawares."

Sansa sensed Tyrion sit up a bit taller. She smiled to herself, glad that someone could say something nice about the man who had given her nothing but kindness. She could not hold true ill will against him. Her merriment almost caused her to miss Galyeon sing of the valor of Jofrrey and Cersei, the golden queen.

"She never did that!" Sansa blurted out without thought.

"Never believe anything you hear in a song, my lady." Tyrion rested his hand over her hand, theone closest to him. She had been resting it on the table. He gave it a squeeze, taking it to his mouth to kiss the back. He then summoned for their wine glasses to be filled again.

The course continued, and Sansa did her best to fight the sleepiness which was overtaking her eyes. The wine, warm food, and little sleep she had received the night before was weighing on her.

"My lady," Tyrion looked up to her.

"I am just a little sleepy, my lord."

"We are near half over the night, Sansa." He grabbed her hand again, rubbing the skin gently with his thumb. She smiled down at him, resisting the urge to kiss his temple lightly.

"Bring on my royal jousters!" Joffrey cried with a slurred speech. His hands clapped together clumsily.

"It does not look like the king will be able to make it through the bedding ceremony," Sansa leaned over to comment to him. Tyrion chuckled.

"He is at the age where he must chose whether it is the wine or the fuck, Sansa. I am afraid Queen Margaery may stay…unseen by Joffrey for one more night. The king is more like to pass out than put any royal heirs in her tonight."

Sansa let out a small sigh. _He will not visit me tonight—No, of course he will not! Steel yourself, you foolish girl!_

A ripple of laughter caused Sansa to look up with Tyrion. He was still holding her hand when the jousters came into sight, and she felt his grip harden. Her heart fell at the same moment.

They were a pair of dwarfs; one riding an ugly grey dog and the other a spotted sow, both wearing painted wooden armour. Their shields were bigger than they, their lances likewise. Sansa felt the same pain Tyrion must have felt when she studied the colors of the makeshift armor—the one upon the dog wore gold with a black stag painted on his shield, the other wore grey and white with a wolf upon his. Their mounts were girded to match. Sansa could feel her cheeks burn with shame; Joffrey was making a mock of the two of them. How glad she was that she and Tyrion were so far from the dais. Joffrey and Tommen were howling in laughter, and Cersei chuckled, even Lord Tywin looked as amused as her father in law was capable of.

Sansa could feel her hands shake, but Tyrion grabbed her hand tighter. "Wear your weakness like an armour, my lady. Do not be burdened by their laughs."

Sansa wanted to draw him against her breast, hold him close. How much the more did he suffer because of this mockery. Sansa did not want to watch, but the spectacle was before them. She thought of getting up to leave, but wondered what Joffrey would do to her.

The dwarfs began a show of dropping weapons and smacking each other in a struggle to retrieve them. She hid her face under her hand as the two began to mount their rides. She could not bear to see the poor people humiliated. They were as much a victim as she was; it was not fair to blame them. Their life was at stake, she knew how that felt.

She did not look until one of the dwarfs yelled "I yield, I yield,". Then she dared to glance up to see the pair in a sexual position, her cheeks burning hotter for them. The two had fallen from their steeds and were locked together, one with his wooden breeches on the ground, the other beneath.

"Oh, Tyrion," Sansa was surprised at the sudden rise of emotion which burned her throat. Her whisper was husky. "I am sorry."

He looked up at her; his eyes were angry, but she could see the hurt beneath them. She for a second time shed a tear for her little lord husband. This was family, what cruelty was this to treat them so? Sansa reached her hand up to wipe away the tears.

"Cry not, Sansa." Tyrion assured her. "Or at least not for me, but for the two being used for laughs."

"Please, let us go, my lord." She had thrown off her plan to just escape from the eyes and laughter.

"A champion! We have a champion!" Joffrey cried. The hall quieted at the king's cry. Sansa looked up and saw Margaery sitting next to the king calmly. Anger swelled in Sansa's breast at the girl, and her heart felt as if it had been stabbed. She thought that Margaery was in support of her and Tyrion, how had she not stopped such an incident?

"Not a true champion, though. A true champion defeats all challengers. Who else will challenge our tiny champion?" Sansa's heart pounded at the smile which lit up the boy's cruel face. "Uncle!"

"No!" Sansa's protest was a whisper, not loud enough for the king. But enough for Tyrion. He took her hand once more, squeezing it. _This is not right! He is of your blood! How dare you treat him this way?! I would_ never _do this to Arya…and she stuck sheep shift under my mattress!_ Oh how she wanted to scream all of this.

She watched in horror as Tyrion stood on the table, accepting his nephew's change. Sansa bit her lip hard, trying to keep her tears inside. "Your Grace, I'll ride the pig…but only if you ride the dog!"

"Me? I'm no dwarf. Why?"

"Why, you are the only man in the hall I am certain of defeating!"

"Oh, Tyrion, no." Sansa breathed. He was signing his death warrant. She would be a widow much sooner than she thought.

He crawled back into his seat after properly upsetting the king and blowing a kiss to the pouting Cersei. Sansa reached out to place her hand on his arm.

"My lord, that was very foolish." She could see that the laughs filling the hall were hurting him. _Oh, how I know what it is to be mocked, my lord._ She offered him a kiss on his cheek. "Please, my lord, let us go."

"My lord, the king!" Ser Garlan warned. Sansa looked up to see Joffrey charging toward the two. He was red-faced, staggering as he carried the wedding chalice in both hands.

"Your Grace!" Tyrion began. Joffrey then upended the cup all over Tyrion. Sansa gasped in shock, naturally jumping back. But the liquid soaked into her sleeve she had been holding onto her husband's arm with.

"How do you like that, Imp?" Joffrey mocked. Sansa was frozen as Joffrey looked down at her.

"That was ill done, Your Grace." Ser Garlan said quietly. Sansa was awed at the knight's bravery.

"Not at all, Ser Garlan." Tyrion let the anger go. He knew he had gone too far. "Not every king would think to honor such a humble subject by serving him from his own royal chalice. A pity the wine spilled."

"It did not spill! And I was not serving you, either!" Joffrey was not going to take the retreat, the lion had been leashed.

"My sweet king," Finally Queen Margaery had shown up, her arms reaching around Joffrey's shoulders to brush his hair. "come, return to your place, there's another singer waiting."

Lady Olenna interrupted and Sansa took the moment to brush as much wine from her lord husband's face. His glance up to her to show his thankfulness.

"Ser Addam has a toast he wants to make as well. Your Grace, please!" Margaery pleaded.

"I have no wine! How can I drink a toast if I have no wine? Uncle Imp, you can serve me. Since you won't joust you'll be my cupbearer."

Tyrion pushed Sansa away. He would again take the embarrassment upon himself, would not let her be dragged into this argument one way or another. "I would be most honored."

"It is not meant to be an honor!" Joffrey was red with anger. "Bend down and pick up my chalice!"

Sansa watched Tyrion obey, wincing when Joff kicked the chalice out of her husband's reach. "Pick it up! Are you as clumsy as you are ugly?"

Tyrion had to crawl under the table to get it, and Sansa felt her heart break once again. "Good, now fill it dwarf," A serving girl came over to fill the cup. "No, on your knees, dwarf." Tyrion complied, raising the heavy cup. She could see him wince in preparation for another bathing. Sansa wanted to say something, to end this. He had saved her when she was being beaten and stripped before Joffrey. Why could she say nothing?

She was relieved to see Joffrey take the chalice and drink from it. "You can get up now, Uncle."

Tyrion rose with a struggle, Sansa put her hand out to help him, but Ser Garlan saved the man from further embarrassment and beat Sansa to her husband's aid. Joffrey and Cersei laughed, Sansa cursed them.

"Your Grace. They are bringing the pie. Your sword is needed." Lord Tywin's voice was even and nonplussed. Sansa took the moment to look down at Tyrion who was brushing himself off with angry thrusts of his hands. She grabbed hold of his hand lovingly, held it in hers.

"The pie?" Joffrey took Margaery by the hand. "Come, my lady, it's the pie."

Sansa was glad the attention was off them once again. She turned to her husband, trying to help him calm down somehow. He was angry, and she knew he was cursing the pie which sat before the couple.

Margaery had stopped Joffrey from using Widow's Wail as the pie cutter, so Joffrey had commanded a sword from Ser Ilyn Payne. Sansa shuddered at the name, flashbacks of her father's head falling to the ground, bloody and gruesome, flashed before her eyes. She could not stop the reaction.

Ser Ilyn appeared and handed over a sword which seemed too familiar to Sansa. She studied the sword as the weapon was passed from executioner to king. It was six feet of ornate silver bright with runes. Ruby eyes winked on a dragonglass carved grinning skull on the pommel.

"What sword is that?" Sansa could feel her heart hasten once again as she turned away from Tyrion. More humiliation. "What has Ser Ilyn done to my father's sword?" Her head was growing light. Tears again beating against her eyes. _Why is each wedding and its feast a torture!_

Tyrion reached for her, grabbing her hand. He pulled her close against him. "Shh, Sansa." His hand rubbed over the small of her back. Sansa watched in horror as the great sword swung down into the pie, the joined hands of Joffrey and Margaery held it. Sansa was choking back sobs as the doves flew from under the crust. Sansa wanted more than anything to leave. She could not catch her breath, something even Tyrion noticed as the two were served hot pigeon pie.

"You are deathly pale, my lady," Tyrion said. "You need a breath of cool air, and I need a fresh doublet. It is beyond time we leave for a moment. Come."  
Sansa took his hand gratefully as the two stood to leave the room together. She shied when she heard Joffrey's voice. "Uncle, where are you going? You're my cupbearer, remember?"

"I need to change into fresh garb, Your Grace. May I have your leave?" Tyrion turned to face the king.

"No. I like the look of you this way. Serve my wine."

"I am sorry, Sansa." Tyrion murmured. Sansa understood, returning with him to their seats. Tyrion climbed onto his chair to reach the chalice, but Joffrey had yanked it from his hands to drink again.

"My lord, we should return to our places. Lord Buckler wants to toast us." Margaery beckoned again.

 _Yes, please return and leave us be. Please._ Sansa thought as she glared at Joffrey who paid her no mind.

"My uncle hasn't eaten his pigeon pie." Joffrey grabbed for her husband's pie. "It's ill luck not to eat the pie." He then shoved it into his ugly little mouth. Sansa again wished he would choke. "See , it's good." A cough. "Dry, though. Needs washing down." Joff took another swig of wine and coughed again. "I want to see, kof, see you ride that, kof, kof, pig, Uncle. I want…"

"Your Grace?" Margaery asked with concern.

"It's, kof, the pie, noth—pie,". Joff drank again, his face turning red. "I can't—"

And Sansa began to see her wish come true. Joffrey started to choke, grabbing at his neck violently. Queen Margaery let out a cry of alarm. Then Lady Olenna came to her side.

Ser Garlan pushed past Tyrion and began to try to help the boy. Sansa knew that this was it. This was the sign.

She turned to see Tyrion standing, struck with confusion. She should go, she should not say anything to him. But she had to. She could not leave without….without…

"Tyrion," She grabbed his arm. He turned.

"Sansa!"

"My lord, I am sorry—"

"Go, Sansa. Go back to the room and lock yourself away. There is no need to stay around for his horror."

"Yes, Tyrion." She looked at him, her feet still bound to the floor by his side.

"What is it?"He was pushing her away, forcing her to flee.

She knelt down to look him in the sharp green eyes, cupping her hands around his cheeks. Her thumb running over the indent of his scar. Then she kissed him. Hard. Her mouth crashing into his, tears running down her cheeks. He kissed her back, his mouth was still sweet with wine. She pulled away.

"Go, Sansa!" Tyrion pointed toward the door. "Go! I will be there shortly."

"I am so sorry." Her mouth was wet, her eyes heavy as she turned and obeyed.

Sansa began to cry. The shame and sadness which filled her tonight rocked her shoulders as she let out a cry. It was masked by the screaming and wailing in the throne room as she ran out into the cool night. Her sleeves flagging in the wind.

Instead of turning left in the yard to return to their apartment, she ran right to enter the godswood. Her time had come and she had only moments to be ready.

She heard it, though. Just as she was out of sight. Cersei's scream pierced the air.

Sansa could not help but smile. What a mad looking woman she must look, running and crying all at once. But she could not help but be happy.

She was free of Joffrey. She was about to be free of King's Landing.

Her smile faded as she threw her binds off.

She was free of Tyrion. And while that was something she wanted, she could not help but know she would miss him. His kindness was a blessing.

And when she returned as Lady of the North, she would reward him handsomely.


	25. Quarrels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, more spoilers. Again, more words from GRRM married with my own narration. I am sorry about the heartbreak of the last chapter; though I am curious about the reaction to the end of this one. Leave a review if you can! If you can't, I still thank you for reading anyways :)

The bells were ringing as she stole through the trees in search of the godswood she had used as a personal closet, placing her clothes in a nook just a night before. She would have hidden them weeks ago, but certainly they would have been found then. _I was so excited for this,_ Sansa thought as she grabbed her skirts, lifting them above her ankles to move more quickly.

Her dark brown wool dress was folded neatly in the crevice of an old oak. Sansa did her best to quickly de-vest herself, but her fingers tripped over themselves. This was a much easier process with a maid who would undo the laces she could barely reach, and pull the heavy fabric from her shoulders. Sansa ended up tearing some of the more delicate decorations of her feast dress, but succeeded in removing it from her body. She stood, shivering in the cool night air, as she clutched the brown dress to her chest, wondering if indeed she had made the right decision. This was not fair to Tyrion. _But all of this is not fair to me._ Sansa scolded herself.

She pulled the dress over her head, wishing she had pulled the freshwater pearls from the bodice as they winked in the moonlight. _Just like my hairnet._ She reached up to grab hold of the piece, her hair falling down her back. She made quick work of the braids and loosened her auburn hair. She held close to the hairnet as she wrapped the deep green cloak she had hidden as well and wrapped it about her body. She tucked her hair into its hood as she began to move from the tree, her dress discarded in the tree.

She took a breath to look at the silver hairnet and noticed one of the stones missing. When she touched her fingertip to the empty crevice it was darkened with a black powder. Sansa's eyes widened as she rubbed the residue off with her thumb. This must have been what was used to kill the king. Whatever was in this hairnet. Ser Dontos had spoken of magic in the hairpiece, but she was certain that it was more likely poison. Smiling to herself she noticed that her once childish belief in magic was leveled from the influence of her skeptical spouse. Again her thoughts went to Tyrion. She could turn back now, run back to the room…

A rustling of the leaves ruined her chance and she braced herself, shoving the net deep into the cloak's pocket. "Who is there?" She called, her voice shaking. "Who is it?"

"Me," Ser Dontos answered, staggering out from under the trees. He was drunk, his breath smelling of far more than wine as he caught her arm to steady himself. "I have come to save you, dear princess. Come, let us go and escape from these dark walls."

"You gave me the hair net! You told me to wear it…what sort of stones are those." Sansa tried to control her tremoring hands, clutching her coat instead.

"Amethysts. Black amethysts from Asshai, my lady."

"They are no amethysts. Are they?" Sansa pulled from him and he stumbled forward. "Are they? You _lied to me._ "

"Black amethysts." He swore. "There was magic in them."

"There was murder in them!" Sansa turned on him. She wanted Joffrey dead, but she did want any blood on her hands. The world was spinning as she struggled for breath again that night.

"Softly, my lady, softly. No murder. He choked on his pigeon pie. Oh, tasty, tasty pie. Silver and stones, that's all it was, silver and stone and magic." He was clearly drunk, but not with the eloquence which Tyrion had developed.

"You poisoned him. You _did_. You took a stone from my hair…"She ran her hand over the hood, pulling it down to reveal her shimmering locks.

"Hush, you'll be the death of us. _I_ did nothing." Ser Dontos staggered toward her once again, clumsily pulling her hood over her moon-kissed hair. She pulled away from him once again when he tried to put his hand on her shoulder. "Come, we must away, they'll search for you. Your husband's been arrested."

" _Tyrion?!_ " Sansa's heart was racing in her ears. "But he did no wrong, _you did_." She had to go back. She could not stand around and let him face trial for something he was innocent of. Sansa turned to take a step back toward the castle.

Ser Dontos grabbed her wrist with a surprising strength. "The Imp, the dwarf uncle, she thinks he did." He was laughing. "This way, we must away, quickly now, have no fear. They will not kill you."

Sansa followed as shock settled into her body. What could she do about Tyrion's plight? If they took him, certainly they would think her an accomplice? And now she was risking more than just her own life and lineage on the crown; she was risking her child's. She had to go.

Tyrion might have known. Might have been a cog in the plan to kill Joffrey—but no, he was not. He would have told her. As they lay together at night, she pretending to sleep as he whispered into her shoulder and placed quiet kisses on the bare skin. He would have woven promises of becoming the knight she always dreamed of.

"Be quiet now, my sweetling," said Daontos. "Outside the godswood, we must make no sound. Pull up your hood and hide your face." Sansa had not noticed she had begun to cry again. Tears that she had dried as she had pulled her brown dress up over her nakedness. But she complied, stifled her sobs and drew her hood to cover her pale skin.

Though she could not hold the hood for long as Dontos staggered upon her far too often. He was so drunk he was nearly falling into the ground, so she had to help him walk. The bells grew louder as she helped him through the dark shadows. She had to let go of him as they took the serpentine stairs; he had stumbled to his knees and retched the contents of his stomach on the stairs. Sansa tried her best to hide her aversion, trying to take pity on the knight who was risking it all by helping her escape. Though, he was a torch among the darkness with his dress; he had donned his old surcoat of red and pink horizontal striped beneath a black chief bearing three crowns.

"Why are you wearing your surcoat? Joff decreed it was death if you were caught dressed as a knight again, he…oh…" Not that Joffrey's decrees mattered much anymore.

"I wanted to be a knight. For this, at least." He lurched in his stride, grabbed her arm again. "Come. Be quiet now, no questions."

They continued down the steps and across to a small sunken courtyard. Ser Dontos opened a heavy door and lit a taper. They were inside a long hall with dusty and dark suits of armor along the wall. They were a fright to look at as Sansa passed. She tried to focus on her steps, make sure that Dontos was not falling on his face before her.

Another staircase took them to an oaken door banded with iron. "Be strong, my lady, you are almost there." Dontos lifted the door and Sansa felt a cold breeze kiss her face. She was now standing on a cliff, having passed through a twelve foot wide wall, to look at the Blackwater below the castle.

"We must climb down now," Ser Dontos said. "At the bottom, a man is waiting to row us out to the ship."

"I'll fall." Sansa was trembling once more, though this time her hand rested gently on her tummy. She could only think of Bran.

"No, you won't. There is a sort of ladder, a secret ladder, carved into the stone. Here, you can feel it, my lady. Almost as good as rungs." He was indicating handholds cut into the face of the cliff.

"I can't." She was shaking her head.

"You must."

"Isn't there another way?" _Yes, back. You explain it all—well the part about the poison. That it was other people who had tricked you_. That was not going to sound like a logical explanation in regards to the king's death. Sansa sighed.

"This is the way. It won't be so hard for a strong young girl like you. Hold on tight and never look down and you'll be at the bottom in no time at all." His eyes shone in the moonlight. He recalled the day to her when she had stopped Joffrey's cruelty at the tournament. "You saved me, sweetling."

"And now you have saved me." She said because he was crying. And she could not bear another person crying tonight.

"Only if you go. If not, I have killed us both."

He _did_ kill Joffrey. He had been there, he had been in the hall with her. She was not sure how he had done so…but he had to have.

"You go first, ser." There was no point in him falling and taking her with him on the way down.

"As you wish, my lady." He gave her a sloppy kiss and swung his legs over the side, kicking until he found a foothold. "Let me get down a bit, and come after. You will come now? You must swear it."

"I'll come," she promised. Sansa had thought about turning back. But he was right: if she returned she was as dead as Joffrey.

She watched Ser Dontos disappear, but she could hear his huffing and puffing as he began to go down. Sansa counted the tolling of the bells until a tenth one ran and then gingerly lifted herself over the side, poking with her toes until she found the crevice. She looked up to see the castle walls looming large above her, and she found herself wanting even more to pull herself up and return. She could hide in the Kitchen's Keep. _Be brave. Be brave, like a lady in a song._

 _Never believe anything you hear in a song._ Tyrion's voice rang in her head. Oh, but she would make this her epic. She would sing her bird's song of a young wolf who was fighting to return to her pack.

So she did not look down or up any longer, but at the cliff, making sure of each step before she took another. The bells would not stop ringing as she made her way down the face, clinging to the handholds. She kept moving, the sounds of the bells were far from her as she counter each step. One more. And one more.

The ground surprised her as she had not looked down. She stumbled and fell, her heart pounding in her ears. She had made it, digging her nails into the ground for proof when she rolled over to her back. She could hear the sounds of Winterfell over the bells, see the walls covered in snow. It was Ser Dontos pulling her back to her feet which caused her to remember her journey was not quite to a close.

"This way. Quiet now, quiet, quiet." He stayed close to the shadows as he led her below the cliffs. He was a bit more sober as he walked the fifty yards downriver to where a man sat in a small skiff, half hidden in a burned ship from the Battle of the Blackwater. _A fire which cause King's Landing to win. A fire thought of by Tyrion_. His name panged her heart.

"Oswell?" Dontos limped up to the boatman.

"No names." The man responded. "In the boat. Get in and be quick about it. We need to be away." He was muttering from under a cowl which shaded his eyes, but revealed his long white hair and hooked nose. Sansa and Dontos obeyed, and when both were safely aboard the man began to row away. The bells still tolling the king's death behind them.

The boat moved steadily through the ship graveyard, muffled oars sending it silently through the water. Sansa tried to think of the night of the battle when she had led the ladies in a prayer to distract them from the horrors outside the door. The night she thought she was going to die either by the hands of the Queen or the hands of the Hound. _But the fire saved us, and I was not raped or murdered. I was saved. Just like I am being saved now._ She had not realized just how important that fire had been. And she did not want to think of the man who was behind the ingenious defense.

"How far must we go?" She asked.

"No talk." The old oarsman's voice was fierce, and there was something familiar about his face, but Sansa was not sure in the dark what it was.

"Not far," Ser Dontos took her hand in his own and rubbed it gently. She pulled it away defensively, placing it below her thigh. "You friend is near, waiting for you."

"No talk!" The oarmans growled. "Sound carries over the water, Ser Fool." So Sansa bit her lip and huddled down in the silence.

The eastern sky was beginning to alight with dawn when Sansa saw the ghostly shape of a trading galley in the distance, her sails furled. As they drew closer, she saw the ship's figurehead was a merman with a golden crown blowing on a great seashell horn. A voice cried out and the galley swung slowly, a rope dropping over the rail. The oarsman slowed the boat, then helped Sansa to her feet.

"Up now. Go on, girl, I got you." Sansa thanked him for his kindness, he did nothing but grunt in return. She then took hold of the rope and began an easier ascent into the boat. The oarsman followed as Ser Dontos remained in the small boat.

Two sailors were waiting by the rail to help her onto the deck. She was shaking from fear which the sailors mistook as cold, and a cloak was wrapped around her shoulders. "There, is that better, my lady? Rest easy, the worst is past and done."

She knew that voice. Though she could not believe it, as he was far from King's Landing in the Vale.

"Lord Petyr!" Ser Dontos called from the boat. "I must needs row back, before they think to look for me."

Sansa watched Lord Petyr put a hand on the rail. "But first you'll want your payment. Ten thousand dragons, was it?"

"Ten thousand." Dontos agreed. "As you promise, my lord."

 _He sold me out!_ Sansa was outraged. This was supposed to be her liberation, not her continued indentured service.

Before she could respond three men had stepped to the gunwale and fired crossbows. Dontos took one in the chest, another in the belly, and third in the throat. It happened so quickly neither Sansa nor Dontos could cry out. A torch was tossed upon the corpse, and the small boat blazed as the galley moved away.

"You killed him!" Sansa clutched the rail, turning away to retch. _Tyrion was right! I should not trust Lord Baelish. He will certainly kill me, too._

"My lady," Littlefinger murmured, stepping closer to her. "your grief is wasted on such as man as that. He was sot, and no man's friend."

"But he saved me!"

"He sold you for a promise of ten thousand dragons." Lord Petyr spoke as if he would take none of her girlish protest. "Your disappearance will make them suspect you in Joffrey's. The gold cloaks will hunt, and the eunuch will jingle his purse. Dontos…well, you heard him. He sold you for gold, and when he'd drunk it up he would have sold you again. A bag of dragons buys a man's silence for a while, but a well-placed quarrel buys it forever." He smiled sadly. "All he did he did at my behest. I dare not befriend you openly. When I heard how you saved his life at Joff's tourney, I knew he'd be the perfect catspaw."

"So you used my payment to buy your own." Sansa's throat was sore from the bile which had forced its way from her belly.

"Do you perchance recall what I said to you that day your father sat the Iron Throne?"

"You told me that life is not a song. That I would learn that one day, to my sorrow." Sansa responded woodenly. She had begun to sing a new song, one she was enjoying much to her own disgust. She had kissed Tyrion before she left. It was something she could not resist.

"Everyone and everything are made of lies, Sansa, save you and I of course. I am glad you listened to my note."

"It was all you, was it not?" Sansa asked.

"Yes. And you were a good girl and obeyed. The godswood was the safest, none of those eunuch's little birds…or rats, as I call them. There are trees in the godswood instead of walls; a sky instead of a ceiling. Roots and dirt and rock instead of the floor. Rats have no place to scurry; rats need to hide lest men skewer them with swords." Lord Petyr took her arm. "Let me show you to your cabin. You have had a long and trying day, I know. You must be weary."

She watched the small burning boat turn into a swirl of smoke as the immensity of the sea swallowed it. She could not go back, no matter how much that bed seemed so comfortable to her. "Very weary."

She followed Lord Petyr from the deck, down into the bowels of the ship. "Tell me of the feast. The queen took such pains. The singers, the jugglers, the dancing bear…did your little lord husband enjoy my jousting dwarfs?"

" _Yours?_ " The question came out with anger. It caused the lord to turn with surprise before continuing on.

"I had to send to Braavos for them and hide them away in a brothel until the wedding. The expense was exceeded only by the bother. It is surprisingly difficult to hide a dwarf, and Joffrey…you can lead a king to water, but with Joff one had to splash it about before he realized he could drink. When I told him about my little surprise, His Grace said, 'Why would I want some ugly dwarfs at my feast? I hate dwarfs.'" Sansa would have laughed at Lord Baelish's impression of the dead boy king if she were not fuming with anger. "I had to take him by the shoulder and whisper, 'Not as much as your uncle will."

"That was cruel," Sansa knew she should not criticize her captor, but she was burning with anger. "That was cruel to make such a mockery. They wore the Stark crest."

"And what of it? There are no Starks left." Petyr turned to her once more, his grey-green eyes glaring down on her. "Surely you were not saddened by the embarrassment I am sure it brought your doomed husband."

Sansa wanted to slap that smug look on his pointy features. She did feel for Tyrion, but she could not show Lord Baelish this weakness if she wanted to follow through with her plans. "They think Tyrion poisoned Joffrey. Ser Dontos said they seized him."

Littlefinger smiled. "Widowhood will become you, Sansa."

Sansa's heart broke. She bit her lip to keep from crying out in misery as Lord Petyr's eyes winked at her. She was not going to be become by another death caused by her hands. They were stained with so many lives which were not of her wanting.

She followed Littlefinger to her cabin which was low and cramped; a featherbed had been laid upon the narrow sleeping shelf to make it more comfortable, and thick furs were piled atop it. "It will be snug, I know, but you should not be too uncomfortable." Littlefinger pointed out a cedar chest under the porthole. "You'll find fresh garb within. Dresses, smallclothes, warm stockings. A cloak. Wool and linen only, I am afraid. Unworthy of a maid so beautiful, but they'll serve to keep you dry and clean until we can find you finer things."

Sansa did not like the way Petyr looked at her; it was the same way Tyrion did when she lay in front of him, naked. But Littlefinger's look was dark and more far off, as if he was thinking back onto something and not truly staring at her.

"My lord, I…I do not understand. Joffrey gave you Harrenhal, made you Lord Paramount of the Trident…why would you wish him dead?"

"I have no motive. Besides, I am a thousand leagues away in the Vale. Always keep your foes confused. If they are never certain who you are or what you want, they cannot know what you are like to do next. Sometimes the best way to baffle them is to make moves that have no purpose, or even seem to work against you. Remember that, Sansa, when you come to play the game?"

"What game?"

"The only game. The game of thrones." He brushed back a strand of her hair. "You are old enough to know that your mother and I were more than friends. There was a time when Cat was all I wanted in this world. I dared to dream of the life we might make and the children she would give me…but she was a daughter of Riverrun, and Holster Tully. Family, Duty, Honor meant I could never have her hand. But she gave me something finger, a gift a woman can give but once. How could I turn my back upon her daughter? In a better world, you might have been mine, not Eddard Stark's. My loyal loving daughter," Sansa did not like his look and was liking less his touch. "Put Joffrey from your mind, sweetling. Dontos, Tyrion, all of them. They will never trouble you again. You are safe now. That's all that matters. You are safe with me, and sailing home."

Sansa doubted very much that she was safer with him. He looked as if he were wanting to devour her, and she was glad when he had left. She pulled her brown dress from her body, wearing only the silk shift which she worn under the feast dress. She thought about looking through the dresses given to her by Littlefinger, but did not want to be more indebted to him in this moment than she need be.

So instead Sansa kicked the fine shoes from her feet, ones which were now browned by the trek to the trading boat, and crawled into the furs on her bed. She wrapped the skins around her arms, the hair gently tickling her body. How was she supposed to continue as the maid? She had given her gift once given, and she was pregnant. Her plan seemed far too big and erroneous to be carried out safely. But she had to trust her instincts.

 _I have begun to play the game already, Lord Baelish_. She pulled the furs above her head, wrapping her body around her tummy which still remained unmoved from when she was receiving her moon's blood. She had only a couple months to seize and plan before her body would play betrayer. _I have slept with a member of the family who killed my mother and brother. Who killed my father. I then escaped to you where you will think me untouched until the moment is ripe. Oh, Littlefinger, I am going to keep myself safe._

Sansa could not stop the next flood of tears. They came perhaps because she was exhausted. She had not slept the entire night, she had spent most of her night before as she tangled with Tyrion's body. She was becoming delirious with the need to slip into the dream world. But she was afraid that if she did she would not dream of Winterfell, but of her bed back in King's Landing with Tyrion's kisses on her shoulders. And she was so sorry that he was imprisoned because of her. What sort of payment was she to give the sire of her child if he was dead? She could give him nothing and prove nothing.

Tyrion would think of a way out of it. He always survived. He had a scar on his face to prove it. Sansa brought her hands to her face, her palms wetting with tears. She should have told him to run. She should have told him of this plan, perhaps he could have left the city and she could have reunited with him later.

But it was too late for ifs. Now the blood of her child's father was on her hands. Sansa's chest heaved with sobs, her stained cheeks were sore from the wind and the salt. So in physical and internal pain, Sansa fell into a dreamless and dark sleep.


	26. Dragonfly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More heavy influence from GRRM - Lydia

The journey on the galley was ungracious to Sansa. The tossing of the waves and the rocking of the boat made her tummy roll. She had woken up the first night on the vessel and retched violently all over the floor of the ship. She was trapped for an hour or so as the seas held her hostage among the furs. She pulled them tighter around her shoulders, pulling others over her head. She was not meant for the seas; she was not a Greyjoy. She was meant for the cold winters of the North.

 _I am going home, remember that_. Sansa tried to comfort herself. She sang hymns under the animal hides, though she was not sure if the seven could hear her over the thunderous sea. The only prayer she wanted to reach toward heaven was for her little baby which grew in her belly. She wanted more than anything to make sure that this little one would make it through the crashing waves better than she could.

Littlefinger had come to her that afternoon to make sure she was receiving the food from the gallery. She had declined joining him in his own cabin as the thought of having to lie to him while she was so ill only caused more bile to leech up her throat. Besides, she could see the look of revolt he had when he had opened the door to see that she had emptied much of her dinner onto her cabin's floor. He tried to gracefully extend his sympathy toward her, but there was something about him which she could not take as serious grace. She had a nagging feeling that she should be as distant from Lord Petyr as she could be without raising suspicion.

 _It is a doubt that was presented in your mind by Tyrion_. She tried to reason with herself. But Tyrion's word seemed to win out over her own perceptions; he had kept his promise and treated her well. He would not give her advice which she could not accept. He was looking out for her wellbeing, and he certainly never outright slaughtered Littlefinger's name in front of her. He just beseeched her to be wary with her interactions.

She hated to think about Tyrion, the memories made the trip more miserable as she lay most of the time cooped up with her thoughts. And they always went back to him. She made him feel so guilty; she was betraying him so many times over: she had run off with his baby with a man he had warned her against. She had behaved vilely—but she wanted to accept that he would understand. That perhaps if she did tell him that he would let her go, let her try to make it up to the North to gain their support. Though, he would have wanted to join her. As much as Sansa wanted to be a beautiful princess, she realized he wanted to be a valiant knight. The two of them were only capable of one half of the equation.

And she dreamed of him. Her little lord husband. He was with her in the North; he, and a red and happy baby, and Lady. That was when Sansa knew she was living in a dream. Lady was dead and gone, and so was her marriage. However, she could not help but feel so loyalty toward Tyrion Lannister, especially when it came to Lord Baelish and his ill words of the man.

Lord Petyr did not bother with her much on the ship since she did not leave her cabin. He did bring her food on the occasion; something he had to prove to her was not poisoned. She could not help but worry about what he might do to trick his enemies next; perhaps stealing her and then killing her would incite some other kind of turmoil. So he would bite the bread and drink the wine he bought to prove that he meant her no harm.

He stopped in one afternoon when Sansa was able to sit up to pay her a visit. She had just woken up from another dream about a peaceful Winterfell future and was not in the mood to be bothered, her mood did not need to be sullied any sooner than it would be. Besides the fact that her tummy was turning again at the scent of fish which seemed to grow stronger every day.

"You are looking a bit less pale, my lady." Littlefinger had commented as he walked into the room. She noticed that his grey-green eyes looked to the floor to be sure that she had not expelled her previous meal on the wooden planks, and she could not help but resent him a little for it. She was embarrassed about the encounter, but she was finding that her sickness spells worsened instead of growing used to the rolling sea.

"I am still feeling a bit queasy, my lord." Sansa replied. She did not want to look at him because she only saw that hungry look in his eyes. A hungry look she had fed one man, and had no interest in satiating in this one.

"I am sure you will feel much better when you are on land." He tried to reassure her as he stepped forward, passing her the wooden plate with a crusty piece of bread on it.

Sansa thought about throwing it to the floor in disinterest and crawling back under the furs, but as much as her tummy felt sick, it also demanded to be fed. She took the offering and nibbled gently. He then held out the wine. She took it carefully, taking a draught to wash down the few crumbs she had eaten.

"I am sure it is nothing like you had in King's Landing, but you need not look at the Imp when you take of your bread, my dear." Littlefinger smiled. Sansa frowned.

"He did nothing." She looked him dead in the eye.

"He did not kill Joffrey, true, but the dwarf's hands are far from clean." Lord Petyr said as he finished his bread quickly, and then sat on the bed next to her. She drew her knees up to her chest, watching him through her disheveled hair. "He had a wife before you, did you know that."

She did. Her name, _Tysha_ , had never left Sansa's mind. She had wondered what kind of woman she had been when the dwarf first told her that he had been married before. Then she learned the cruelty with which had been dealt him and took pity. Though, she did not know who to pity worse—Tyrion because his wife's love was deceptive, or Tysha because of what Tywin's commands had forced on her. Tyrion had confessed to his own wrongdoing in the event one night, his heart heavy as he told her the story. How he had behaved just like his father's men. Sansa had been horrified at first, that he would do such an act to a helpless woman, a fear eclipsing her heart that perhaps he would do the same thing to her.

But then she was not in the same situation. She had not absolved him from responsibility, but she could empathize that he did what was needed to survive. She had no desire to face the wrath of Tywin. And she had sold her own father out to the Queen for even less. He had not treated her cruelly, and unless she wanted to lose her own safekeep, she should judge him by his current actions. She had decided to put it past her; there was no good in trying to resurrect the past. Else she would have and changed her own indiscretion; perhaps her father would be alive if that were the case.

"He told me." She responded with full honesty.

"And did he tell you that when he grew bored with her, he made a gift of her to his father's guardsman? He might have done the same to you, in time. Shed no tears for the Imp, my lady."

"I will do as you ask, but he had not traded me over yet. And I should think he would rather grow bored of a wife unwilling to give up her virtue." _Let us return to playing the virgin. He can lie, I can as well_. She would have to come out with the truth in the future as the fact would become known in several months time, but she could delay it for the moment.

"There is no use in trusting Lannisters, my lady. I do not need to remind you that they were the ones which took your father's head, and then ordered the deaths of your beautiful mother, Lady Catelyn, and your brother, Robb Stark." He said the names as if to shake Sansa from forgetfulness.

 _"_ The North does not forget, my lord. I know well what was done."

"They took your brother's head and placed his direwolf's head upon his shoulders." Lord Baelish responded.

"Are you trying to incite further remorse, my lord?" Sansa asked, sitting up and letting the furs fall from her shoulders.

"I am trying to remind you of your enemy, Sansa." He leaned toward her. "You speak of the Imp's innocence incessantly as if you care whether he lives or dies."

"I just want proper justice to be served."

"Oh, Sansa, my naïve little bird," He laughed at her. He was mocking her and she found it grating. "There is no fair justice in the game. If you want proper justice, then you must execute it yourself. And what is proper justice letting the dwarf live? He was most like to kill you as soon as he was given the chance. Perhaps soon after you had his child."

"Well, that will not happen." Sansa responded. "I have not thanked you, Lord Baelish, for your help."

"My child, it is my wish to see the Lannisters removed from the throne. I want nothing more than for the North to rise once again. King's Landing has lost its time of glory; it is time to have the power in the North."

"I do not wish to be queen," Sansa responded.

"You did not wish to be _Joffrey's_ queen, Sansa. But if there is the chance you will have a crown of power atop your head, well, you will want to have the ability to carry out that proper justice you speak of."

 _He twists my words so._ "I do not mean to argue with my lord about things I am still ignorant to. I am just of a sour distemper because of seasickness."

"It will pass, my lady, and we are not far from shore. You will enjoy a good glass of wine to settle that tummy of yours." He leaned forward and placed a kiss on her forehead. She knew it was intended to be a sign of friendship, but she could not help but sense there was something more. She was glad when he left not long afterwards.

She had resigned after that visit to take Tyrion's advice and keep her eye on Littlefinger. He made her feel uncomfortable, despite his amiable attempts at friendships. And he was a player of the game looking for the perfect piece. Tyrion had taught her a little about not allowing another player to dominate her to the point of submission. He had taught her in an intimate way that she could be in charge; and Sansa was going to make sure that Littlefinger worked for her.

* * *

Tyrion settled back against the wall of his dank and dark cell as the room grew darker, night settling in. It had been one day since the wedding; one day of rotting in here, accused of something he was innocent of. _My lady wife should have taught me that the more innocent you are, the more danger you end up in._

Oh, Sansa. How the name pained him to think of; she had somehow escaped the guards who were looking for her, much to his relief. She would certainly be dragged into this insanity, but there was no way the girl could have done this without his prior knowledge. Or, at least he was _certain_ that she could not have.

Ser Kevan had been the one to question Sansa's involvement. Tyrion could only scoff at the idea and told Ser Kevan that he could ask Sansa himself when they found the poor frightened girl whose family was slaughtered not long before. A girl who was completely unable to stop the tragedies done to her. Ser Kevan had not believed him, but he did send Podrick as promised. Of whom Tyrion had promptly sent out to go and fetch Bronn. He was bothered later by his uncle concerning his virgin list of witnesses (he dare not list his wife's name, he wanted her to hide for the moment), leaving with disappointment. Tyrion had settled on the wall, waiting for morning and knowing no one would come visit him.

 _Would Sansa come and comfort me if she was here?_ He wondered to himself as he looked out the door. Certainly she was not too far away, perhaps if he could assure the judges that he was innocent he could find her. Sansa was exposed, and he wanted to do nothing more than save her.

The door creaked open on its hinges again causing Tyrion to sit up. The movement had surprised him, and his mood soured as he watched the visitor enter. An unexpected visitor was often an unwanted, and ill-omened one.

It was Podrick, his face pale and his eyes filled with fear. "What is it, Pod? Have you returned so late with Bronn?"

"No, please, m'lord," Podrick dared take another step in the room. "I know it was your express commands that I return only with the sellsword, but…but I have something I think you would like to see."

"Oh?" Tyrion staggered to his feet, waddling over to look up at his squire.

"I…I found this, m'lord." Podrick reached into his doublet, pulling out a folded piece of paper. He handed it down to Tyrion, his hands shaking and causing the paper to jump.

"A piece of paper? Podrick, what is this—" Tyrion paused when he turned the page over, seeing his name written in pretty script. _Sansa's hand, I recognize it…_ "Where did you get this, Podrick?"

"M…m…m…m'lord…" the boy was trembling. "It was in one of your books, and I thought…it is the kind lady's writing?"

"You found this in a _book_ , Pod?"

"Yes, m'lord.

"And you are certain it was a book and not a pretty little hand." Tyrion glared up at his squire. He had to know if Sansa was in a place where Pod could speak to her as his advocate.

"No, m'lord. The lady has not returned to your apartments. I am sorry," Podrick folded his hands behind his back, bowing his head.

"Is it your fault that my lady wife has scampered off?" Tyrion clenched the paper between his fingers. "No, but be gone now. And do not return until you have returned with Bronn."

"I know I should not have returned without him."

"You did well, Pod." Tyrion sighed, trying to soothe his shaking servant. "This is worth more than my sellsword at this moment."

"I will return, m'lord." Pod assured him.

"See that you do," Tyrion waved the boy away. Podrick obediently left as quickly and suddenly as he had entered. Tyrion took the letter with him back to the wall he had settled against.

When he had returned to the hard floor, he took the ends of the paper in his fingers, letting out a breath he did not realize he was holding. This was certainly Sansa's handwriting; he could see it though his hands trembled as violently as Pod's. He took a pause before opening the paper to its true length.

 _My_ _lord_ _dear Tyrion._ He smiled as he saw her strikethrough; she had wanted to address him formally, still so frightened of him despite his promises of her protection.

_By now I am gone. And I just wanted you to know that this is not your fault. You have treated me kindly, much more than I had expected from a Lannister. This will never be forgotten. The North remembers._

_I have gone somewhere that I am scared of. There are moments when I wish I could take you with me, your superior wisdom would be greatly welcomed. But I must find my own way now. I am going to take back Winterfell in my own power. I cannot tell you where I am going in case this is found by the wrong eyes or in case you can come after me. Know that I will return one day, I have to. Your gift to me must be shared at some point or another._

_Thank you, Tyrion, for the grace you have offered me when others were quick to force me to sing._

_Until I see you once more, my lord husband._

_Sansa, Lady of Winterfell, Wolf of the North._

Tyrion felt tears burning his throat as he read the message. She had left him; she had left him all on his own to face the trial. Despite her abandonment, he could not be angry with her. She had left for her greater purpose, and he would pray to the gods she had believed so faithfully in that she would be given her just reward.

Tyrion's focus on the letter caused him to neglect the chain, which was wrapped around the paper. It hit the ground with a clank as Tyrion held the letter before him again. He reached forward, taking the metal between his fingers. The sight only made his eyes water further.

At the end of the silver chain was a dragonfly necklace the size of a coin. It had been one of her favorites; he had seen it adorn her long, pale, beautiful neck more than once. He clasped the pendant in his fist, bringing the curled fingers to his lips. As he had given her a token to remember, the ring she had worn even to Joffrey's cursed wedding, she had given him something of hers. He could be assured that at the least his gorgeous lady wife had pleasant affections toward him.

Tyrion placed the clenched hand to his forehead, leaning over and began to choke back tears. He had found tears for Sansa as well as himself. _Oh, Sansa. I may not meet you again, but take care of my…my child_.


	27. Skins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to add that I am still borrowing portions of dialogue and situations from Martin. Hence why this is fanfiction. So yes, I think the majority of Lysa's dialogue belongs to GRRM. That is all. -Lydia

The night air was cold and dank, but brought a clean fresh scent to Sansa's nostrils. She was tired and worn from her time spent on the ship ( _It must have been a month_ , she had thought to herself earlier that morning, staggering down the ramp to the deck) and her legs were still uneasy on the firm land. Her tummy, on the other hand, was much happier to be kept still instead of being sloshed about on the boat. The smell of fish and sheep dung soon returned her to a state of queasiness.

But no fish was to be smelled here in the castle in the Vale. She was in desperate need for a bath which she had been promised by Lord Petyr when she had gotten off the boat but never received. He had instead been rushed to a wedding, and consequently so had she. It was Lord Petyr's surprise wedding to her Aunt Lysa. _Cold, bitter Aunt Lysa. My mother would never wish me to think ill of her, but Aunt Lysa would never be as beautiful as my mother._

The fresh food had been a welcome relief and she had eaten with relish at the table where she sat with Lord Petyr. _My father now,_ Sansa sighed as she pressed her head against the meager pillow she had been provided. _I am no longer Sansa Stark. I am Alayne Stone. Bastard born of Petyr Baelish and a gentlelady. I am Alayne Stone._ She tried to repeat to herself over and over.

"I will not allow you to be a bastard," Sansa breathed as she placed a hand on her tummy. She smiled as she thought through the fictional past which Lord Petyr had given her. She was coming from the Faith, a sect of pious and chaste sisters. How strange it would be in several months' time when this dedicated woman would have a taut round tummy—then more would understand why she had left the sept.

"I will be free of the Vale or the Eyrie and to Winterfell by that time," Sansa muttered to herself.

The halls of the castle were filled with her aunt's screams of pleasure. Sansa had performed the bedding ceremony with the small crowd of wedding attendants earlier, and her aunt was assuring the castle that the bedding was most certainly being performed. Sansa tried to cover her ears with her arms, but her aunt's cries were too loud.

Every moment of today was making her think back to her own wedding, to her own first bedding. Sansa had not wanted to cry out in pleasure; she wanted to cry in agony and pain. No one cared for her feelings then. _Well, not no one._ Sansa corrected herself. She felt a pang in her heart as she thought back to Tyrion again. She knew that she would be risking much in trying to find out if there was any news on her little husband's trial, on his sentence. Surely he must have been through both by the time she had arrived here. Perhaps he had been able to talk his way of out punishment. He was oh so good at talking himself out from tight corners.

Her nose was running, chilling her upper lip, and she used her wrist to wipe away the wetness. She came to recognize she was crying, tears streaming down her swollen cheeks once again. With nothing to truly comfort her, Sansa rolled over to her side and pullec her legs up toward her chest. She brought the hand bearing the lion insignia to her heart, twisting the ring around her finger. Lord Petyr had not noticed the jewelry she had carried, but Sansa knew it was only a matter of time before he grew suspicious of her wearing a Lannister lionhead on her hand. She would need to get a small chain, perhaps, bury the gift under the folds of dress's neckline.

Sansa was reminded that the old blind dog of the house had settled onto the corner of the bed where her feet were when he let out a whine as she stirred under the covers. She had found him curled up and fast asleep on the bed, a comfort after her journey from the main house to the house where her sleeping quarters were. She had passed through rooms of drunken men purging their bodies of their drinks, and maids and knights flirtatiously kissing and reaching hands up under each other's clothes. Some of the revelers were still causing raucous even as the hours of the night grew late. Sansa's body wanted to sleep, but she was afraid, her mind spinning over and over again with what could happen if she closed her eyes. She never wished more for the presence of Tyrion closer to her, someone who knew others who could save her from the dark.

Paranoia had been her constant companion since she had landed. Perhaps someone wanted to take her and sell her over to the queen. So many had already profited from her miseries, and what a better way to trick your enemy only to let them think they were safe to only to sell them off to their doom. Every footstep toward her startled her.

The dog must have sensed her anxiety; he repositioned himself against her knees, reaching his head up to lick at her hand. _Oh, think of how it would have been if I still had Lady_. The thought came to her mind. "Though I don't suppose having her would make much a difference, seeing as what happened to Grey Wind and Robb."

The dog whimpered at her and she ruffled his head in return. "You sad old dog."

"Alayne?" Sansa's breath caught as footsteps came near her. She wished for nothing more than to be left alone.

A young man bent over her, "Sweet Alayne, I am Marillion. I saw you come in from the rain. The night is chill and wet. Let me warm you."

The dog answered for Sansa as he raised his head and growled, but the man was unafraid. He cuffed the dog, and Sansa's only friend abandoned her as he slunk off into the night, whimpering.

"Marillion. You are…kind to think of me, but…pray forgive me, I am very tired." Sansa pushed herself from her laying position to sit up on the bed, shaking at the sight of the man leering over her. Her nightshift felt so very thin in the air as he looked over her body.

"And very beautiful. All night I have been making songs for you in my head. A lay for your eyes, a ballad for your lips, a duet to your breasts," He reached toward them, Sansa wrapping an arm around her chest quickly. Marillion made a face as he understood he was being rebuffed. "I will not sing them, though. They were poor things, unworthy of such beauty." He sat on beside her on the bed, placing his hand on her leg. "Let me sing them to you with my body instead."

 _Oh, I feared for Joffrey and this is where I find danger_. He came nearer and she caught the old familiar smell of alcohol on his breath. "You're drunk."

"I never get drunk. Mead only makes me merry. I am on fire." His hand slipped up to her thigh, he was learning forward. "And you as well."

"Unhand me. You forget yourself." Sansa tried to hide the shakes her fear was causing.

"Mercy. I have been singing love songs for hours. My blood is stirred. And yours, I know…there is no wench half as lusty as one bastard born. Are you wet for me?"

"No!" Sansa cried as she pushed him away. "I…I'm a maiden." She protested.

"Truly? Oh, Alayne, Alayne, my fair maid, give me the gift of your innocence. You will thank the gods you did. I'll have you singing louder than the Lady Lysa."

Sansa jerked away from him, crawling up into the corner of her bed "If you don't leave me, my au—my father will hang you. Lord Petyr."

"Littlefinger?" He chuckled. "Lady Lysa loves me well, and I am Lord Robert's favorite. If you father offends me, I will destroy him with a verse." He put a hand on her breast and squeezed. The pressure was even more painful than normal as Sansa's breasts had become quite tender; she let out a cry of pain in response. "Let's get you out of these wet clothes. You wouldn't want them ripped, I know. Come, sweet lady, heed your heart—"

"No!" Sansa cried in distress, her baby making her more bold than she would have been on her own.

The soft sound of steel on leather was buried under protest, but the voice was not. "Singer, best go, if you want to sing again." Sansa saw the glimmer of a blade in the dim light.

Marillion saw the blade as well. "Find your own wench—" A cry came from the singer. "You cut me!"

"I'll do worse, if you don't go."

Marillion left Sansa quickly, but the figure looming over Sansa came closer. "Lord Petyr said to watch out for you."

It was Luthor Brune's voice, not her husband's sellsword. As she was left alone in the darkness, she realized she missed Bronn's ever present company. As much as he was greedy for gold, he could not deny that the even she and he had become good acquaintances, perhaps even distant friends.

Sansa lay back on the pillow and closed her eyes, but she could not stop the tears from flowing down her cheeks once more.

* * *

The next morning came slowly, Sansa had spent most of the night tossing and turning as she had on the Merling King. She kept having nightmares of Joffrey's bloodless face and his ripped neck, Grey Wind's head upon Robb's shoulders, and even about Tyrion. He was being killed, ripped apart bit by bit as Cersei and Tywin watched on and Tyrion kept screaming her name, as if she would come and save him. Sansa woke up with a cry, stirring the old dog which had rejoined her in the night.

Grisel, a servant of the house, appeared in Sansa's bed room as the girl was dressing herself for the day to inform her that Alayne was wanted. Sansa almost asked the servant who Alayne was, and that she must be confused, but memory set in before Sansa gave herself away.

Lady Lysa was still abed when Sansa arrived at her bed chamber. Lord Petyr was up and dressed. "Your aunt wishes to speak with you. I've told her who you are."

At least there was one more soul which Sansa could share a secret with. Heaviness lifted from her chest as approached her aunt. "I…I thank you, my lord."

"I've had as much home as I can stomach," Petyr replied, oblivious to Sansa's gratitude as he pulled a boot upon his foot. "We'll leave for the Eyrie this afternoon." He kissed Lady Lysa and licked a smear of honey off her lips before making his way down the steps.

Sansa stood stoically at the foot of her aunt's bed as Lysa ate a pear, studying her. "I see it now," her aunt spoke as she finished the fruit. "You look so much like Catelyn."

"It's kind of you to say so." Sansa flushed.

"It was not meant as flattery. If truth be told, you look too much like Catelyn. Something must be done. We shall darken you hair before we bring you back to the Eyrie, I think."

 _Darken my hair?_ Sansa had reached up to touch the end of the braid she had pulled her auburn hair into that morning. She dropped her hand quickly, nodding her head. "If it please you, Aunt Lysa."

"You must not call me that. No word of your presence here must be allowed to reach King's Landing. I do not mean to have my son endangered." She nibbled a corner of a honeycomb now, and Sansa began to piece together why her aunt was much larger than she remembered. "I have kept the Vale out of this war. Our harvest has been plentiful. The mountains protect us, and the Eyrie is impregnable. Even so, it would not do to draw Lord Tywin's wroth down upon us." She licked her fingers of honey after placing down the comb. "You were wed to Tyrion Lannister, Petyr says. That vile dwarf."

Sansa tucked the hand with the lion ring on it behind her other, looking down at her feet. It was unfair to say he was so vile; if he truly was he would surely have sent Lord Tywin upon the Vale by now. He was smart enough to figure out where she could have gone.

"They made me marry him. I never wanted it." The statement was truthful, so she could look her aunt in the eyes.

"No more than I did," Lysa said. "Jon Arryn was no dwarf, but he was old. You may not think to see me now, but on the day we wed I was so lovely I put your mother to shame. But all Jon desired was my father's swords, to aid his darling boys. I should have refused him, but he was such an old man, how long could he live? Half his teeth were gone, and his breath smelled like bad cheese. I cannot abide a man with foul breath. Petry's breath is always fresh…he was the first man I ever kissed, you know. My father said he was too lowborn, but I knew how high he'd rise. Jon gave him the customs for Gulltown to please me, but when he increased the incomes tenfold my lord husband saw how clever he was and gave him other appointments, even brought him to King's Landing to be master of the coin. That was hard, to see him every day and still be wed to that old cold man. Jon did his duty in th bed chamber, but he could no more give me pleasure than he could give me children. His seed was old and weak. All my babies died but Robert, three girls and two boys. All my sweet little babies dead, and that old man just went on and on with his stinking breath. So you see, I have suffered too." Her aunt sniffed. "You do know that your poor mother is dead."

"Tyrion told me." Sansa replied obediently, biting her lip as she fought back against her emotions. "He said the Freys murdered her at the Twins, with Robb." At the least he was honest with me.

Tears welled in her aunt's eyes. "We are women alone now, you and I. Are you afraid, child? Be brave, I would never turn away Cat's daughter. We are bound by blood." She beckoned Sansa closer. "You may come kiss my cheek, Alayne."

Sansa dutifully approached and knelt by the bed. Her aunt was drenched in a sweet scent that did nothing to mask the smell of sour milk, and when Sansa kissed her her cheek tasted of paint and powder.

"Now tell me," Aunt Lysa said sharply as Sansa stepped by. "Are you with child? The truth now, I will know if you lie."

Sansa had only a moment to steel herself, to keep her mouth firm and her eyes locked on her aunt. She could not give away the precious secret of her child. "No."

"You are a woman flowered, are you not?" Her aunt looked at her incredulously.

"Yes," Sansa could try to hide her flowering in the Eyrie as her babe would stop the flow as it had already, but too many lies were being told at the moment, and it was better to be truthful at least once. "Tyrion did not bed me, Lady Lysa." Sansa used her aunt's proper name. "I am still a maid."

"Was the dwarf incapable?"

"No." Sansa fought against a smile, he was _very_ capable. If only she could have shown her satisfaction as had Lady Lysa; Tyrion had pleased Sansa so thoroughly the last several times she was with him. He loved her, and he did all he could in his power to show her. "He was kind." She could not deny grace to Tyrion. If not for his kindness she would not be here. If not for his adoration she would not be on her way to taking back Winterfell. "He had whores, my lady. He told me so."

"Whores." Lysa released Sansa's wrist. She had caught hold of it in her interrogation of her niece. "Of course he did. What woman would bed such a creature, but for gold?" Sansa's innards cringed as her aunt spoke so matter-of-factly. She tried to ignore the insult paid unwittingly to her. "I should have killed the Imp when he was in my power, but he tricked me. He is full of low cunning, that one. His sellsword slew my good Ser Vardis Egen. Catelyn should not have brought him here, I told her that. She made off with our uncle too. That was wrong of her. The Blackfish was my Knight of the Gate, and since he left us the mountain clans are growing very bold. Petyr will soon set all that to rights, though. I shall make him Lord Protector of the Vale." Her aunt smiled for the first time, almost warmly. "He may not look as tall or strong as some, but he is worth more than all of them. Trust in him and do as he says."

 _How you feel for your sneaky Littlefinger, I have felt for my lord husband_. Sansa could feel Tyrion's bitterness toward Lord Baelish seep into her thoughts. "I shall, my lady."

Lady Lysa seemed pleased by that. "I knew that boy Joffrey. He used to call my Robert cruel names, and once he slapped him with a wooden sword. A man will tell you poison is dishonorable, but a woman's honor is different. The Mother shaped us to protect our children, and our only dishonor is in failure. You'll know that when you have a child."

"I am married, my lady. If I have no child by my lord husband than I have no child at all." Sansa replied.

"Yes, but soon a widow. Be glad the Imp preferred his whores. It would not be fitting for my son to take that dwarf's leavings, but as he has never touched you...How would you like to marry your cousin, the Lord Robert."

The thought made Sansa's stomach turn and she wanted admit that she wanted her own lord husband back. She should have found a way to bring him with her, or a way to keep him safe. _Then Lord Petyr would have turned his back on you. You need to proceed forward by yourself, Sansa. For your child, as your aunt has just told you._

"I….can scarely wait to meet him. But he is still a child, is he not?" A sickly little child. No one would ever marry Sansa for love, especially as a spoiled good. _But he had come to love…._

"He is eight. And not robust. But such a good boy, so bright and clever. He will be a great man, Alayne. The seed is strong, my lord husband said before he died. His last words. The gods sometimes let us glimpse the future as we lay dying. I see no reason why you should not be wed as soon as we know that your Lannister husband is dead."

Sansa's heart cried out in pain as Lysa continued to callously speak of Tyrion. _Why should she care?_ Sansa tried to reason with herself.

"A secret wedding, to be sure. The Lord of the Eyrie could scarcely be though to have married a bastard, that would not be fitting. The ravens should bring us the word from King's Landing once the Imp's head rolls. You and Robert can be wed the next day, won't that be joyous? It will be good for him to have a little companion. He played with Vardis Egen's boy when we first returned to the Eyrie, and my stweard's sons as well, but they are much too rough and I had no choice but to send them away. Do you read well, Alayne?"

"Septa Mordane was good enough to say so."

"Robert has such weak eyes, but he loves to read. He likes stories about animals the best. Do you know the little song about the chicken who was dressed as a fox? I sing him that all the time, he never grows tired of it. And he likes to play hopfrog and spin-the-sword and come-into-my-castle, but you must always let him win. That's only proper, don't you think? He is the Lord of the Eyrie, after all, you must never forget that. You are well born, and the Starksof Winterfell were always proud, but Winterfell has fallen and you are really just a beggar now, so put that pride aside. Gratitude will better become you, in your present circumstances. Yes, and obedience. My son will have a grateful and obedient wife."

 _Your son will never have me, for I intend to win, Aunt Lysa_. Sansa plotted behind her smile. "I must be on my way, my lady, to pack."

"Of course, and have someone give you a bath, my dear. Don't forget to darken your hair."

"I will not, Lady Lysa," Sansa promised as she turned away. "I will not." For it was time for the wolf to shed the lionskin and take on the skins of the falcon and the mockingbird.

Sansa knew the story of the chicken dressed as the fox all too well.


	28. Snowfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, more spoiler things in here (though we are swiftly catching up in the show!) and yeah. The story line and words in the middle of this chapter are GRRM. The actual words for the most part are mine structure around the skeleton! Thank you so much, everyone, for the kind words and encouragement. And I hope you enjoy! ~Lydia

Sansa had been filled with peaceful nostalgia when she had woken up to see that snow was falling gently on the Eyrie. The snowflakes were beginning to drift in through the open windows, causing her maid to shudder and pull her body tighter inside her blanket. Sansa, on the other hand, pushed the covers from her body in order to dress appropriately for the weather. It was her first sight of snowfall since she had left Winterfell and her bones were aching to be reunited with the powdery hills.

Sansa looked down at her tummy as she undressed quickly; her lower abdomen was beginning to protrude out just a little, easily mistaken for a feast eaten too well. She placed a hand on the soften skin, her thumb rolling over the small curve. She had been right, thank the seven. She was pregnant. She was glad that she had told Tyrion true.

 _Oh, Tyrion_. She was desperately on the lookout for any news from King's Landing since she had been relocated to the Eyrie. It had been more than a fortnight since she had escaped, creeping much more closely to an entire month if she had to guess. And she had hope that some news of the trial would have come to the Eyrie, even if her Aunt Lysa wanted nothing to do with the southern kingdom. _I just wish to know if I am a widow truly_.

Sansa could not stop playing the thought over and over in her head as she dressed, even though she wished to lock it away in order to fully enjoy the snow which was beginning to accumulate on the ground. She took one more glance out her window when she had finished getting her lamb's wool dress, hose, and boots on, pulling her gloves onto her hands and throwing her cloak of white fox fur over her head as she crept out the door so as not to wake her maid.

The weather was more than she could have hoped for as she burst through the back door of the castle, her boots crunching in the inch or so that had settled while the castle slept. The garden lay before her, undisturbed and covered with snow, a marvel to behold and a sight that Sansa was beginning to miss.

 _I am a queen of the North,_ _ **the**_ _Queen of the North. It is in my blood._ She reasoned as she passed the frosted shrubs and dark trees. She spun around taking the sight in, a fairy tale before her eyes and she the long awaited royalty. "Oh, my darling, this will be what your kingdom shall look like." She placed her hand on her belly absentmindedly as she spoke to the future heir of Winterfell.

She traveled further into the snowy wonderland before her, breathing in the smell of land covered in snow; a smell of innocence and dreams that had surrounded her since she was little. _Everything is wiped clean, everything is fresh._ Winterfell was calling to her bones and she could hear it even more loudly in the snow of the Eyrie. She floated by a statue of a weeping woman which was half broken and buried under the rising snow. She looked over to the art with a sad smile. She knew the tears better than she wished. Turning away, Sansa forced herself to focus on the beautiful sight before her. She closed her eyes in order to smell the swirling air filled with dancing snowflakes. The newness of the wind cleared her mind.

When she opened her eyes she had come to the realization that she had sunk down in the ankle-deep snow onto her knees, though she did not remember falling. The deep greys and blacks and whites of the snowy world were lighting as dawn was approaching, bringing another day and another chance to grow stronger. So that she could return to the days of old, the days when Bran and Arya ambushed her and pelted her with snowballs as she unassumingly went on her way of out of the keep. She scooped up a handful of snow in her hands and reflected on what she used to have in Winterfell. What she thought she had wanted to leave for so long, only to have reality teach her that where she had come from was the paradise she was always promised.

There was no use punishing herself for the past; she had to move forward with what she had been given to the future. She looked at the snow in her hand, sighing at the uselessness of a snowball in an empty godswood. The Eyrie's soil was not strong enough to support the life of a weirwood, and thus she was left in the otherwise beautiful garden with no god to watch over her. _Oh but please, Seven, please, Mother, watch over my baby._ Sansa prayed as she let the snowball disintegrate between her fingers.

She had chased Ayra the day she had been ambushed by her sister and Bran. She had chased the younger sibling through the kitchens and had nearly caught her when Sansa had lost her footing on some ice on the smooth floor. Ayra had returned to assure her sister was alright, and when she was given a satisfied answer, she had thrown another snowball in Sansa's face. Sansa was just as quick as Ayra, though, and had grabbed hold of her sister's leg, pulling her down to the ground and rubbing snow in her hair until Jory came along and separated them.

Oh, the memories of Winterfell.

Sansa had let the snowball die in her hand, but now she returned to the packable snow, making two snowballs now and packing them together. Soon a third was added to create a cylinder which she then used her finger to poke dents into, like windows. She set to work on the rest of the castle with two walls, inner and outer, and towers and turrets, keeps and stairs, a kitchen, an armory, even stables. She had begun with the formation of just a castle, but as the walls and rooms grew, Sansa knew it was Winterfell. _I am beginning the reconstruction._ She thought. _Your father…wait, can the baby hear my thoughts?_ She wondered. She decided it would do little harm to whisper aloud to her belly.

"Your father," she glanced around nervously to be sure she was alone in the garden. "your father promised me that we would rebuild Winterfell, brick by brick. And I am planning, my son, right as we sit here in the snow, the walls and the keeps and the kitchens, all the places you will come to know as I knew them." She knew it was a bit presumptuous to assume the child's gender, but she knew that it may be her only chance, and the child would only do well if he was a he.

She paused for a moment to rub her hands together, her fingers and toes stinging with cold, growing numb as she sat in the piling snow. She knew she should most likely return to the castle and break her fast, her tummy was rumbling and she was eager for a hot drink, but she needed to make sure that her Winterfell was just right. Her tongue stuck out the side of her mouth as she worked on the Library tower and then a gate house with an arched gate to connect two bulwarks.

The calling of her maid startled her, as the woman leaned out the window and called down asking if she were well and if she would like to return to the castle and break her fast, as Sansa had just recently thought of. Sansa had not yet finished, however, so she shook her head and returned to her work as she began to form the Great Hall. _A place where my future Lord of Winterfell, King of the North, will sit._

Dawn was fast approaching and so the castle was rousing. Sansa had spotted her Aunt Lysa up on the balcony looking over, a blue velvet robe wrapped about her portly body, but the woman was gone when she looked again. She was too busy focusing on the bridges which kept collapsing beneath her crafting hands. When she lost a bridge for the third time, she foully cursed in anger. Words which Tyrion's tongue had taught her, words not fit for a lady. So she turned bright red in embarrassment when a voice startled her.

"Pack the snow around a stick, Sansa." It was Lord Baelish who had crept up on her. How long had he been watching? Did he notice that she was speaking to her belly earlier? "That will give it strength enough to stand, I'd think. May I come into your castle, my lady?"

Sansa looked up at the man, still wary of him. "Don't break it. Be…"

"…gentle?" Petyr answered with his honey thick smile. "Winterfell has withstood fiercer enemies than me. It is Winterfell, is it not?"

"Yes." Sansa tried to keep her annoyance out of her voice. She had wanted to explain all the rooms to her son, not to Petyr.

"I used to dream of it, in those years after Cat went north with Eddard Stark. In my dreams it was ever a dark place, and cold."

"No," Sansa was quick to correct him. "It was always warm, even when it snowed. Water from the hot springs is piped through the walls to warm them, and inside the glass gardens it was always like the hottest day of summer. Though I cannot think of how to do the glass roof over the garden."

Littlefinger stroked his chin as he looked down at Sansa. "The glass was locked in frames, no? Twigs are your answer. Peel them and cross them and use the bark to tie them together into frames. I'll show you." He quickly crossed over her castle to the middle of the yard and retrieved twigs as he suggested, returning with several in his hands. "We will need to imagine the glass, to be sure."

"This is just right." Sansa replied as she laid the twigs on the small house she had made.

"And so is that." Petyr touched her face.

"And so it what?" She looked over at him, confused.

"Your smile, my lady. Shall I make another for you?"

"If you wish."

"Nothing could please me more." He responded.

He stayed and helped her form the rest of Winterfell; more glass gardens were erected and the walls were extended so the guardshall could be built. She used sticks to keep the bridges from falling, as he had suggested. Winterfell was rising to its glory with the help of Petyr, and for a moment Sansa too wished that he would help her return her home to its rightful state.

Sansa was beginning to grow quite playful, and she decided that perhaps the snowball idea was not a bad one now that she had someone to use for a target. So the next tower that was built and raised soon became a weapon in her hands. She threw the snow at Petyr with a laugh.

"That was unchivalrously done, my lady." He stated.

"As was taking me here, when you swore to take me home." Sansa replied. She had learned from Tyrion that she should be to the point when the time called for it, and the time most definitely called for it.

"Yes, I played you false in that…and in one other thing as well."

"What other thing?" Sansa asked, her limbs frozen as she thought over Tyrion's warnings about this man.

"I told you nothing could please me more than to help you with your castle. I fear that was a lie as well. Something else would please me more." He stepped closer, grabbing her arm. "This."

He pulled her further into his arms against her protest and was kissing her on the mouth. She did not open her lips to allow his snaking tongue inside, and the pressure of his mouth against her hurt. She wanted to be far from this kiss and this embrace. She could taste mint and not the usual flavor of wine. She twisted her head to the side, throwing her limbs to get him off of her.

"What are you doing?" She demanded as she took a step back.

"Kissing a snow maid." Petyr straightened his cloak as if nothing had happened.

"You're supposed to kiss my aunt. Your lady wife."

"And I do. Lysa has no cause for complaint. I wish you could see yourself, my lady." He reached out toward her, to try to brush her cascading hair over her shoulder. Sansa violently pulled herself out of reach, her eyes set narrowly on him. "You are so beautiful. You're crusted over with snow like some little bear cub, but your face is fused and you can scarcely breathe. How long have you been out here? You must be very cold. Let me warm you, Sansa. Take off those gloves, give me your hands." He reached his now bared hands out to her.

"I will not." There was anger in her voice as she watched him. "You should not kiss me. I might have been your own daughter…"

"Might have been," He smiled ruefully. "But you are not, are you? You are Eddard Stark's daughter, and Cat's. But I think you might be even more beautiful than your mother was, when she was your age."

"Petyr, stop." Sansa commanded him. Some had claimed her husband was a pervert, but Petyr was now seeing Sansa as a version of her mother. Wanting to repeat the past on a girl who very well could have been his daughter.

"A castle!" The voice was loud and shrill and childish. Lord Petyr turned from her.

"Lord Robert, should you be out in the snow without your gloves?" He knew down to address his step son.

"Did you make the snow castle, Lord Littlefinger?"

"Alayne did most it, my lord."

"It's meant to be Winterfell," Sansa replied with pride.

"Winterfell?" Robert was small and sickly, a little boy of eight. His skin was splotchy and his eyes were always runny. He clutched a threadbare doll under his arm which he carried everywhere.

"Winterfell is the seat of House Stark," Sansa told the little boy. _A boy I am supposed to marry later on—unless my true husband returns._ "The great castle in the north."

"It's not so great," The boy knelt before the gatehouse. "Look, here comes a giant to knock it down. Tromp, tromp I'm a giant! I'm a giant! Ho, ho, ho, open your gates or I'll mash them and smash them." And with those words Robert began to destroy the castle with his soiled toy.

"Robert, stop that!" Sansa cried in dismay. But Robert did not listen and continued to destroy the home Sansa had built and taken hours to painstakingly reconstruct.

Sansa could not take it any longer and grabbed hold of the boy's doll, rendering the head from its neck. A loud ripping sound echoed the silent garden as the boy held tight to the doll's body and Sansa gripped its head. The dolls rag and sawdust stuffing was bleeding all over the ground.

"You killlllllled him!" Robert wailed and began to shake violently.

He collapsed atop the castle as his limbs flailed violently in one of his shaking spells. Sansa watched in horror as the boy lost control, but Petyr jumped into action and took hold of the small boy, shouting for the maester. Attendants were quick to his side and Maester Colemon agreed that the boy was in need for a leeching.

"It was my fault," Sansa held forth the doll's head. "I ripped the doll in two, I never meant to. It was an accident."

"His lordship was destroying your castle," Lord Petyr reached for her.

"A giant," The boy whispered. "It wasn't me; it was a giant that hurt the castle. She killed him! She killed him! I hate her! She's a bastard and I hate her! I don't want to be leeched!"

The boy was dragged reluctantly away. Sansa looked over the ruins of Winterfell. The snow had stopped, and the air was colder than before. She wondered if Robert would shake all through their wedding. She wanted Tyrion more than ever in this moment. She did not want to be wed to the little monster who shook and tore up her home. He would certainly do harm to her child. With anger Sansa grabbed a broken branch and impaled the head of the doll, placing the memento on top of the shattered gatehouse. The servants looked aghast, but Littlefinger only laughed.

"If the tales be true, that's not the first giant to end up with his head on Winterfell's walls."

"They are only stories." Sansa responded venomously and passed him.

She returned to her bed chambers and removed her cloak and wet boots, setting them by the fire. She had no doubt that she would be made to answer for Lord Robert's fits. _Perhaps Lady Lysa will send me away_. Banishment was something her aunt was known for. Sansa dressed into a drier set of clothing, smoothing her skirt and pulling the fabric taut of her little tummy.

"I cannot wait any longer." Sansa decided. She had to find what news there was from King's Landing. She had been idle too long.

Sansa crept down the stairs of her keep toward the tower of crows. She was certain that she could ask Master Coleman when he had returned what had become of King's Landing since she had last heard from the sept of the Sisters. She feared being caught by one of Lysa's men who would send her immediately back to her room.

Instead Marillion found her, his hands as eager to touch her as Littlefinger's had been.

"Hello, my beautiful maiden." He greeted her. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

"To ask Maester Coleman a question, and where are you going?"

"I heard a certain fiery young lady upset his lordship. I am off to sooth him with songs." He leaned toward her. "But what tales are you looking to hear from the maester, my lust filled bastard wench?"

"News of King's Landing." She smiled at him. Perhaps Marillion had heard a story or two in Lysa's presence.

"Not much to tell of King's Landing. The horrid King Joffrey was killed at his wedding feast."

"I knew of that news before I had come here with my father. But did they find the murderer?"

"They took in the Imp, my fair maiden." He reached toward her. "I can sing much more beautiful tales to you than this news."

"I wish to know. My father wants me to know of all the great lords and the politics of Westeros. I am trying to study instead of cause trouble." She answered innocently.

"What an obedient creature you are." He reached for her. "Come be obedient to me."

"You must tell me what I want," Sansa replied.

"Oh, Alayne." Marillion sighed. "The Imp was being held for trial, but there is rumor among the travelers that the small man escaped. And killed his lord father in the process."

"Lord Tywin is dead?" Sansa's heart pounded.

"The King's Hand is dead. But what does it matter, Alayne. That is lands and oceans away. And my song is here." He reached forward. Sansa pulled away.

"I must go," Sansa made an excuse. "I have work to do in the books for my father. For his book keeping."

"Alayne, come hear my song tonight, after Lord Robert has been soothed. The tales are so much sweeter from my cock than my lips."

Sansa quickly turned from him to return to her room. She was glad to be away from his presence, and more glad to find that Tyrion had escaped. _He has killed his father_. Sansa's heart sunk. _But he is free. Perhaps I will be able to return to my true lord husband instead of marrying Lord Robert._

She swiftly shut the door behind her when she had returned to her room. When she was sure she was alone, she placed her hand on her belly.

"Your father may be safe, my son. Let us pray to the Seven that he is returned to us." She murmured out loud before settling before the fire to chase the cold from her bones.


	29. Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is some more spoiler-ific stuff below. Also, a good portion of the Sansa POV is GRRM framework, some of the stuff said is word for word. Tyrion's is a framework, dialogue is mine :) ~Lydia

Lord Petyr had sent to Sansa's room a tray of sweets as an apology for what Sweet Robin had done to her snow castle. Sansa wanted to refuse them in a show that she was not pleased that he had taken advantage of her in the walls of the castle, but the smells of lemoncakes were too tempting for her to resist. She began to eat them hurriedly, never remembering sweet cakes tasting so good, even at Joffrey's wedding. She licked her fingers eagerly after she chewed slowly, savoring the tarty sweetness in her mouth. Her servant watched her eat with surprise in her green eyes at how much Sansa was able to eat and clear her plate. She was glad for the chance to have some sweets and forget about her predicament for the moment when Marillion showed up at her door.

A charming smile lit up his handsome face as he looked down at Sansa with hungry eyes. "Lady Lysa requires your presence in the High Hall."

"Thank you," Sansa replied stiffly, brushing past him with her shoulder as he pushed against her. She walked forward at a rapid pace to place space between them only to be dismayed at the sound of his shoes as he followed. "I know the way there myself."

Marillion followed. "My lady said to bring you."

"Are you a guardsman now? Must you watch after me as I walk?"

"My lady, I will always watch after you as you walk. I am composing a new song for you, so sweet and sad it'll melt your frozen heart. 'The Roadside Road', I am going to name it, a song about a baseborn girl so beautiful she bewitched every man who laid eyes on her."

Sansa wanted to slap him for his bold tongue. She wanted to tell him that she was Sansa Stark that she was married to Lord Tyrion of House Lannister and was carrying the heir of Winterfell. But she could never tell him. Besides, with her hair now a muddy brown she would never look like Sansa Stark. She continued to walk ahead of him, not wanting to be in his presence any longer as he made her sick.

Sansa had not yet been to the High Hall; it had not been used since she had arrived. And she was unsure as to why her aunt would want to meet her in the Hall instead of the comfort of her own solar, or the audience chamber with the beautiful waterfall scenery. The change made Sansa nervous as she approached the hall's large doors where two guards stood with spears in hand. Sansa stopped before them as they barred her way until Marillion caught up to her.

"No one is to enter so long as Alayne is with Lady Lysa." The singer commanded.

"Aye," The men let Sansa and then Marillion pass, crossing their spears as soon as they had entered the room. Marillion swung the doors shut and barred them with another spear.

"Why did you do that," Sansa asked as she spun around toward Marillion. Her hand rested protectively over the small bump of her tummy.

"My lady awaits you."

She turned around slowly, scared to see what dangers lay behind her. She had come so far from certain death in King's Landing only to find trouble at the hands of her aunt? Would no one be kind to her and give her shelter?

Lady Lysa sat on the dais in a highbacked chair of carved weirwood, alone. The chair next to her, taller and stacked with blue cushions usually hosted Lord Robert. But today it did not. Sansa hoped that he had recovered, the little brat, but she was sure she would not be told by Marillion.

Lady Lysa looked down on Sansa dressed in a cream colored velvet gown, bearing a necklace of sapphires and moonstones. Her auburn hair was pulled up into a thick braid which fell over her shoulder. The color of her aunt's hair in the sunlight made Sansa jealous for the loss of her own hair's hue, darkened by powders and dyes which the lady before her had provided. Sansa took a step forward and saw that beneath the paint and powder that Lysa's face was red and puffy. The banner snapped behind her in the breeze, a moon and falcon in blue and cream, making Lysa much more menacing than she should be.

Sansa stopped before the dais and curtsied. "My lady, you sent for me?" She could hear the sound of the wind and the soft chords of the song Marillion was playing as he sat at the hall's entrance.

"I saw what you did." Her aunt said.

"I trust Lord Robert is better?" Sansa smoothed down her skirt nervously. "I never meant to rip his doll. He was smashing my snow castle and I only wanted to-"

"Will you play the coy deceiver with me?" Her aunt bellowed. "I was not speaking of Robert's doll! I saw you kissing _him_."

Sansa shivered as the temperature of the High Hall seemed to drop. She stopped fiddling with the folds of her skirt and now pressed her left hand over her tummy, the right hand grabbing her left elbow in an effort to pull herself closer. "He kissed _me._ "

"And why would he do that?" Lysa's nostrils flared. "He has a wife who loves him. A woman grown, not a little girl. He has no need for the likes of you. Confess, child. You threw yourself at him. That was the way of it.

Sansa took a step backward. "No! That is _not_ true!"

"Where are you going? Are you afraid? Such wanton behavior must be punished, but I will not be hard on you. We keep a whipping boy for Robert, as is the custom of the Free Cities. His health is too delicate for him to bear the rod himself. I shall find some common girl to take your whipping, but first you must own up to what you've done or you'll pay the price yourself. I cannot abide a liar, Alayne."

"I was building a snow castle," Sansa kept stepping backwards, tears running down her hot cheeks. "Lord Petyr was helping me. I didn't want him to, but he was. And then he kissed me. That is what you saw!"

"Have you no honor?" Her aunt said sharply. "Do you take me for a fool? You do, don't you? You take me for a fool. Yes, I see that now. You think you can have any man you want because you are young and beautiful. Do you not think I have not seen the looks you give Marillion. I know everything that happens in the Eyrie, little lady. And I have known your like before, too. But you are mistaken if you think big eyes and strumpet's smiles will win you Petyr. He is mine." She rose to her feet. "They all tried to take him from me. My lord father, my mother, your mother…Catelyn most of all. She liked to kiss my Petyr, oh yes she did."

Sansa clutched tighter to her belly. "My mother?"

"Yes your mother, your precious mother, my own sweet sister Catelyn. Do not think to play innocent with me, you vile little liar. All those years in Riverrun, she played with Petyr as if he were her little toy. She teased him with smiles and words and wanton looks, and made his nights a torment."

"No!" Sansa cried out. _My mother is dead. She was your own sister and she IS DEAD_. "She didn't, she wouldn't."

"How would you know? Were you there? Did you come with Lord Bracken and Lord Blackwood, the time they visited to lay their feud before my father?" Lysa stood and descended from the high seat toward Sansa, her skirts swirling as she moved. "Lord Bracken's singer played for us, and Catelyn danced six dances- _six_ dances- with Petyr that night, six. I counted. When the lords began to argue my father took them up to his audience chamber, so there was no one to stop us drinking. Edmure got drunk, young as he was…and Petyr tried to kiss your mother, but she only pushed him away. She laughed at him. He looked so wounded I thought my heart would burst, and afterward he drank until he passed out at the table. Uncle Brynden carried him up to bed before my father could find him like that. But you remember none of it, do you?" She looked down angrily. "Do you?"

"I was not born, my lady."

"You were not born. But I was, so do not presume to tell me what is true. I know what is true. You kissed him." Lysa stood before Sansa looking down at her with Tully blue eyes filled with hostility.

"He kissed me," Sansa interrupted. "I never wanted—"

"Be quiet, I have not given you leave to speak. You enticed him, just as your mother did that night in Riverrun, with her smiling and her dancing. You think I could forget? That was the night I stole up to his bed to give him comfort. I bled, but it was the sweetest hurt. He told me he loved me then, but he called me Cat, just before her fell back to sleep. Even so, I stayed with him until the sky began to lighten. Your mother did not deserve him. You do not deserve him. She would not give him her favor to wear when he fought Brandon Stark. I would have given him my favor. I gave him everything. He is mine now. Not Catelyn's and not yours."

Sansa felt the fear she thought she never would be filled with again when she had been removed from Queen Cersei's presence. Lady Lysa had the anger which Cersei wore on her face, the same rage and desire to destroy Sansa as her sister in law. "He is yours, my lady." She did her best to sound meek and contrite. "May I have your leave to go?"

"You may not. If you were anyone else, I would banish you. Send you down to Lord Nestor at the Gates of the Moon, or back to the Fingers. How would you like to spend your life on that bleak shore, surrounded by slatterns and sheep pellets? That was what my father meant for Petyr. Everyone thought it was because of that stupid duel with Brandon Stark, but that wasn't so. Father said he ought to thank the gods that so great a lord as Jon Arryn was willing to take me soiled, but I knew it was only for the swords. I had to marry Jon, or my father would have turned me out as he did his brother, but it was Petyr I was meant for. I am telling you all this so you will understand how much we love each other, how long we have suffered and dreamed of one another. We made a baby together, a precious little baby." Lysa put her hands flat against her belly, as if the child was still there. "When they stole him from me, I made a promise to myself that I would never let it happen again. Jon wished to send my sweet Robert to Dragonstone, and that sot of a king would have given him to Cersei Lannister, but I never let them . . . no more than I'll let you steal my Petyr Littlefinger. Do you hear me, Alayne or Sansa or whatever you call yourself? Do you hear what I am telling you?"

"Yes. I swear I will never ever kiss him again, or…or entice him." Sansa thought that was what her aunt wanted to hear.

"So you admit it now? It was you, just as I thought. You are as wanton as your mother." Lysa took a strong hold on Sansa's arm at the wrist, pulling violently on the limb. "Furthermore you think me the fool, child? I told you I would know if you were lying—and you have lied to me. You are pregnant, girl. You clutch your horrible youthful womb with yours hands like a shield. Tell me, did you use the same wiles your mother had on sweet Petyr when you took that long voyage with him? Did you seduce and bleed for my husband?"

"No, Lady Lysa, please. I did not!" Sansa pulled at her arm, her shoulder screaming in pain as Lysa bent it unnaturally from her body.

"You have admitted to seducing my husband."

"No, my lady, I am not. I am not pregnant."

"Stop lying to me, your horrid little creature. You have given yourself to my husband." Lysa was growing more angry, dragging Sansa by the arm to the center of the room. "Come with me now. There is something I want to show you."

"You're hurting me." Sansa squirmed. "Please Aunt Lysa. I have not done anything. I did not sleep with Lord Petyr. The baby is Lord Tyrion's. I played you falsely, please, let me go."

Her aunt ignored her protests. "Marillion!" She shouted. "I need you, Marillion! I need you!"

The singer had remained at the rear of the hall, but came running when he heard Lady Arryn's shouts.

"My lady?"

"Play us a song. Play 'The False and the Fair'."

Marillion's fingers brushed the strings. "The lord he came a-riding upon a rainy day, hey-nonny, hey-nonny, hey-nonny-hey,…"

Lady Lysa pulled Sansa's arm harder as the girl protested by pulling away. Sansa realized that her aunt was much bigger than she, and it was either be dragged or walk. Sansa reluctantly chose to walk. She followed her aunt to the center of the hall where a round door lay on the floor. The wind whistled against the wood.

"The Moon Door." Sansa gasped. "Why are you showing me the Moon Door?"

"You squeak like a little mouse now, but you were bold enough in the garden, were you not? You were bold enough in the snow. You were bold enough on the boat."

"The lady sat a-sewing upon a rainy day," Marillion sang. "Hey-nonny, hey-nonny, hey-nonny-hey."

"Open the doors, Marillion!" Lady Lysa commanded. Marillion paused in his song to use his arms to move a wheel he was standing next to. The doors parted and Sansa looked down, dizzy as she saw nothing by clouds and the distanced blur of greens and browns of the ground hundreds of miles below.

Sansa grabbed Lysa's wrist now, holding tightly as she looked over her shoulder at the clouds, the wind howling and whistling louder as the wood was no longer muting their song. The noises were joined by Marillion starting his song once again.

"Look down," Lady Lysa commanded her once more. "Look down."

Sansa tried to wrench free, but her aunt's fingers were digging into her arm like claws. Lysa gave her another shove and Sansa shrieked. She trembled as her right shoe's toe stepped over the ledge; her heel was the only part of her right foot left on solid ground.

"Don't!" Sansa cried. "You are scaring me!"

"Do you still want my leave to go? Do you?"

"No!" Sansa planted her feet and tried to squirm away, but Lysa held her grip firmly. "Not this way. Please…" Sansa had moved her right foot back and was trying to use the grout between the stones of the floor to push backward away from her aunt. She kept losing her grip and sliding forward. Lady Lysa continued to press her forward inexorably.

"The lady lay a-kissing, upon a mound of hay, hey-nonny, hey-nonny, hey-nonny-hey," Marillion continued to sing.

The wind slipped its way up Sansa's skirts and bit at her legs as Lysa pushed her closer to the open portal. Sansa grabbed desperately for something to hold onto as she was pushed closer to her death. Her hands grabbed ahold of Lysa's braid and she gripped hard, pulling at the thick cord as she pushed herself forward.

"My hair!" Lysa cried, stepping back from the door as she let go of Sansa's wrist and grabbed hold of the crown of her head in pain. "Let go of my hair!"

"Lysa, what is the meaning of this?" The shout cut through the sobs and heavy breathing. Footsteps echoed down the High Hall. "Get back from there! Lysa, what are you doing?" The guards were still beating at the door; Littlefinger had come in through the back way, through the lords' entrance behind the dais.

As Lysa turned Sansa let go of her hair, stumbling away from the Moon Door and falling to her knees in fright and exhaustion. Lord Petyr saw her and stopped suddenly. "Alayne, what is the trouble here?"

"Her!" Lady Lysa returned to Sansa's side an grabbed a handful of Sansa's hair. "She's the trouble. She kissed you."

"Tell her!" Sansa was sobbing as she begged. "Tell her we were just building a castle—"

"Be quiet!" Her aunt screamed. "I never gave you leave to speak. No one cares about your castle."

"She's a child, Lysa. Cat's daughter. What did you think you were doing?"

"I was going to marry her to Robert! She has no gratitude. No…no decency. You are not hers to kiss! Not hers! I was teaching her a lesson, that was all."

"I see." He stroked his chin, running his thumb along the smooth skin where the usually small stubby beard he grew. "I think she understands now. Isn't that so, Alayne?"

"Yes!" sobbed Sansa. "I understand."

"I do not want her here." Her aunt's eyes were shiny with tears. "Why did you bring her to the Vale, Petyr? This is not the place. She does not belong here."

Sansa wanted to shout out in agreement. She did not. But with Winterfell gone and her husband missing, where did she belong?

"We will send her away, then. Back to King's Landing, if you like" He took a step toward them. "Let her up, now. Let her away from the door."

"NO!" Lysa gave Sansa's head another wrench. Sansa cried out in pain, her hands reaching up to grab hold of her aunt's wrist to relieve the ripping sensation of her scalp. "You can't want her. You can't. She's a stupid, empty-headed little girl. She does not love you the way I have. I have always loved you. I have proved it, have I not?" Tears ran down her aunt's puffy red face. "I gave you my maiden's gift. I would have given you a son too. But they murdered him with moon tea, with tansy and mind and wormwood, a spoon of honey and a drop of penny royal. It was not me, I never r knew. I only drank what Father gave me. And I'll do the same for her…"

"That's past and done, Lysa. Lord Hoster's dead, and his old maester as well." Littlefinger moved closer. "Have you been at the wine again? You ought not to talk so much. We do not want Alayne to know more than she should, do we? Or Marillion?"

Lady Lysa ignored that. "Cat never gave you anything. It was me who got you your first post, who made Jon bring you to court so we could be close to one another. You promised me you would never forget that."

"Nor have I. We are together, just as you always wanted, just as we always planned. Just let go of Sansa's hair…"

"I will not! I saw you kissing in the snow. She is just like her mother. Catelyn kissed you in the godswood, but she never meant it, she never wanted you. Why did you love her best? It was always _me_!"

"I know love," He took another step toward them. "And I am here. All you need to do is take my hand, come on." He held it out to her. "There is no cause for all these tears."

"Tears, tears, tears," she sobbed hysterically. "No need for tears…but that is not what you said in King's Landing. You told me to put the tears in Jon's wine, and I did. For Robert, and for us! And I wrote Catelyn and told her that the Lannisters had killed my lord husband, just as you said. That was so clever…you were always clever, I told Father that, I said Petyr's so clever, he will rise high, he will, he will, and he is sweet and gentle, and I have his little baby in my belly.."

 _So Petyr had Jon Arryn killed by his own wife. And Joffrey killed by me. Who else has he used to keep his hands clean from blood but his lips dripping with it?_ Sansa looked up at the man before her and wondered if she should perhaps be more afraid of him.

"Why did you kiss her? Why? We are together now, we are together after so long, so very long, why would you kiss _her_?"

"Lysa," Petyr sighed. "after all the storms we have suffered, you should trust me better. I swear, I shall never leave your side again, for as long as we both shall live."

"Truly?" She asked, weeping. "Oh, truly?"

"Truly. Now unhand the girl, and come give me a kiss."

Lysa threw herself into Littlefinger's arms, sobbing. As they hugged, Sansa crawled from the Moon Door on hands and knees and wrapped her arms around the nearest pillar, pressing her belly against the stone. She could hear her heart pounding. There was snow in her hair and her right shoe was missing, she had not noticed it had slipped from her foot in her struggle against her aunt. She shuddered, hugging the pillar tighter. She turned her head to keep her eye on the man who commanded death.

Petyr let Lysa sob against his chest for a moment, then put his hands on her arms and kissed her lightly. "My sweet silly jealous wife," he said chuckling. "I have only loved one woman, I promise you."

Lysa smiled tremulously. "Only one? Oh Petyr, do you swear it? Only one?"

"Only Cat." He gave her a short, sharp shove.

Lysa stumbled backward, her feet tangling in a trip as she fell toward her backside. And then she was gone. She never screamed. For the longest time there was no sound but the wind.

Marillion gasped. "You…you…"

The guards were shouting outside the door, pounding with the butts of their heavy spears. Lord Petyr came to Sansa who shied away. He grabbed her wrist tightly and pulled her to her feet.

"You are not hurt?" He asked, running his hands down her arms. Sansa jerked away, but shook her head to assure him she was not.

"Run, let my guards in, then. Quick now, there's no time to lose," he turned, shouting as he looked toward the door. "This singer's killed my lady wife."

Sansa looked at Marillion who stood near the Moon Door's wheel with a face pale and wide brown eyes. He looked at her and her heart broke slightly. How many people were going to die for the sins of others? She looked back at Petyr who gestured toward the door. Sansa lifted her skirts up and he smiled as she began to run.

She ran past the doors, however. Petyr could clean up his own mess. She wanted nothing more than to run back to her room, pack her bags, and set out to join her husband in whatever mess he was up to his neck in. She ran fast, realizing as she exited through the lords' entrance that she was crying and shaking, wanting to vomit all the sweets she had inhaled only an hour's time earlier.

* * *

Tyrion was yet again drunk in his cabin as he sailed across the narrow sea to a Free City. Which Free City Jaime had neglected to tell him when he had freed him from his binds, so Tyrion was bound to his quarters on a trip to the gods knew where. His brother had returned to King's Landing in time to save Tyrion. Tyrion was glad that among the few trustable Lannisters, his brother was one.

"And so was Sansa," Tyrion muttered into the bottom of his cup. "The good girl she was, she should not have been given my name. It would have been an honor to take hers." He chuckled as he swirled the wine around the edges of the cup. "Not that I have any honor left. Kinslayer and kingslayer, one and the same."

Tyrion thought back to the look that was on his father's face when he had shot the quarrel into his bowels. He wished he could forget the entire night; he had been a fool. He should have followed Jaime and Varys' exact orders instead of making his way to his father's chambers in an attempt to exact some sort of revenge.

Tyrion groaned as he stumbled to his feet to refill his not yet empty cup with the shit tasting wine he was served on the boat. Perhaps it would erase the memory of Shae, the whore who had betrayed him. He had found that he did not love her the way he once had, but it had hurt when she had accused him of making her fuck him, making her try all the sexual favors she had perfected in the whore house on his body. She, the one who had done all of that to him because she claimed she loved him, she had lied and blamed him as a witness on trial. She had even stated that the nickname she had given him was what he had commanded her to call him.

"Lying whores, the lot of women." He spat as he saw Cersei's face, smug and happy looking down at him in his memory. She was so proud of having found Shae.

Of course, she could not have predicted what Tyrion would find later when he entered is father's chamber and found Shae and her beautiful tits and her talented cunt lying naked in his father's bed. She was dressed in his jewelry, flaunting the gold he had. She looked so surprised when Tyrion had come in, covering herself with the blanket on the bed, her cheeks burning red in embarrassment. She had called him that nickname again, and he could not take it. He had grabbed hold of the gold chain necklace around her neck and twisted and watched as she jerked and cried and shut her eyes. Anger had overtaken him. And the crossbow was right there, right in his presence. And his father was clueless in the privy tower right outside his doors.

His father had left him haunted with memories- memories of Tysha. A girl he once thought had betrayed him. A girl he had watched be raped and participated in. A whore who had loved him and who his father had paid and sent on her way…wherever whores go.

"For hands of gold are always cold, but a woman's hands are warm." Gold bought nothing but cold women and painful memories. Seduced men to do shameful things.

Tyrion poured more wine and drank deeply.

Sansa had not. He touched the necklace he had placed around his neck, hidden beneath his clothes. She had been kind to him. But she had abandoned him in the end. _With a promise to return to me._ He closed his eyes, seeing her face behind his lids. They were soft and blue, so blue, looking into his. A smile across her pink lips, her red hair falling over her bare shoulders and draping his shoulders as she lay on top of him. The way her neck craned when he was moving inside of her and making her cry in pleasure. She had called his name in passion and desire, willingly kissed his lips. A beautiful lady not paid to give him her body. He had told her that she could keep her maidenhead. And she had given it to him in exchange for his help. In exchange for his own honor and blessing. She wanted a son as badly as he did. Tyrion was able to give her something she wanted.

Oh, he prayed to the gods every night that Sansa was fine and her child was growing. He did not know when she would give birth; he did not even know how much time had passed since his own trial. But he hoped that she was well, she was somewhere safe and being cared for. Being fed sweets and provided with strong walls and soft beds. "Things I could never give her."

He took another drink, stumbling back to his bed. He wished he had been sent to Dorne so he could help Myrcella; she had the true inheritance of the Iron Throne according to Dornish Law as she was older than Tommen. He could help her ascend to the Iron Throne, keep Sansa far from ever sitting in it. Though, perhaps Margaery would make a good puppet out of Tommen—if she survived being killed by Cersei.

The cabin boy entered the cabin with food, which Tyrion did not and would not eat, and a bucket and scrub brush. Tyrion had tried to talk with him, but he did not respond. So Tyrion would often spend the time talking at him.

"Is it already time for supper? I could have sworn it has only been three hours since you were here last." Tyrion asked sarcastically, he wanted to be left alone this afternoon, but perhaps the boy would let him air out his thoughts. How he missed Pod in times like these.

"I have a wife. A very beautiful wife. I wish I knew where she was." He said as he lay back on his bed. "She escaped that horrible city before they could put her beautiful hands in chains. I had another wife before her. It was annulled because she was a whore," he looked at the ceiling as he talked, listening to the boy's scrub brush scrape across the wood. "I did some horrible things to her. I need to find her. Not to marry her, of course, but to repay her. I owe her an apology and much more for the terrible things I let happen to her in the short day we were married. I suppose it will never be enough. But being on trial with the threat of losing my life puts a perspective on regrets. Of which I find I have far too many of them."

The boy stood and put his brush in his bucket, turning to look at Tyrion but still not talking.

"Leaving so soon?" Tyrion asked. "A shame. Well, until next time I suppose."

The boy turned to him before he walked out the door. "Apologies are a good start, and can be a way to close some doors behind us. Even if they cannot repair anything, they are our acknowledgement of our trespasses and wrongs, we admit we have done the crime."

Tyrion turned and looked over at the boy who did not look back and shut the door behind him. Tyrion sighed and lay back on the bed, shutting his eyes. There were so many things he could not repair, beyond hope caused by the mistakes he made. He only destroyed everything in his path. He was finding that he was hoping he would die instead of returning to Sansa. She was beautiful and pure and honorable, a true maiden and noblewoman. She did not need a monster for a husband, she just needed his title. And he was glad to give her that with no payment. After all, the bear never really deserved the maiden fair.


	30. Skirts

Sansa returned to her room after a morning meeting with Lord Petyr. The Lord Declarants had visited the night before with a demand for Lord Robert which Littlefinger fought against. When Sansa entered her servant Gretchel was arising from sleep, the girl rubbing her eyes with her fists. Sansa had done her best to be as quiet as possible, but in the castle of silence every movement shouted. She looked over to her servant with an apologetic glance.

"I am sorry, Gretchel, I did not mean to wake you." Sansa spoke, placing a hand on her belly which swelled before her.

"Where was her ladyship, if I may inquire?" Gretchel sat up, splaying her torso over her knees.

"Inquiring my father regarding our fate in the Vale." Sansa replied, wrapping her robe tighter around her body as she shivered against the chill in the still air.

"And what was his lordship's answer?"

"The Lord Declarants have given him a year to repair the Vale, to bring it to former glory as he has promised. If he fails, they will pass on Lord Robert to the houses about them so that he is brought up correctly." Sansa replied.

"Has Lord Baelish discovered your…secret?" Gretchel asked.

"So far he is still oblivious," Sansa pressed her dress against her not so secret bump where her baby rolled and kicked. "You have done a good job making sure that those dresses conceal the pregnancy."

"Of course, my lady. I understand that you need to confess to Lord Baelish what has happened, but I can understand the shame." Gretchel shivered. "Especially since it was the awful singer. How treacherous for him to take your maidenhead as your uncle and your aunt joined together on their wedding night."

"Yes, it was rather horrible." Sansa looked away from Gretchel. She had told her maid servant that it was Marillion who had forced his will upon her; it was a believable enough story and she knew Gretchel had a strong dislike for the man. Sansa did not like the lie she spewed regarding her baby's parentage, but it was either admit the truth or stay secret just a little longer.

"I will go and fetch more firewood, my lady. And would you like your food brought to your room? You seem to be very tired."

"No, Gretchel, I will go to the Great Hall to dine with Lord Robert." Sansa replied as she watched the maid wrap her body in a robe and leave the room in search of firewood for the sleepy flames.

Sansa sighed as she made her way over to her bed, lying on the soft mattress. The room she was given was much larger than the bedchamber she was given when her Aunt Lysa was alive. Sansa could still see the lady's scared and twisted face as she plummeted to her death.

 _A simple push for her. He no doubt would mix a cup of tea for me_. Sansa splayed her hands over her belly. It was taut and round, turning her from looking like a girl who had been given too many sweets to a woman bearing a child. Sansa was glad for the comfort that her baby was alive as he rolled and moved inside of her. He had awoken her one night with a strong kick followed by tumbling, Sansa had sat up and rubbed her slightly smaller belly then in joy. _Oh, if only Tyrion were here to….._ Sansa stopped the thought before she was moved to more tears.

The baby was kicking and punching about her midsection making her sore from the inside and causing her to catch her breath. Her belly was not heavy yet, but she could only imagine how much more cumbersome she would become in the coming months.

"My little wolf-lion, you are already trouble, kicking and punching." She murmured as she rubbed her hand round her belly.

The first couple days she had felt his kicking and squirming she had to control her gasps of wonder, as he was most active when she was with Lord Petyr learning how to be a proper lady. Now she had to hide faces of annoyance as the baby was ceaseless in her tummy. She also had to keep her hands far from her belly; there was no sense in giving away her condition to Lord Petyr before absolutely necessary.

She regretted abandoning Tyrion each day she lived in the Vale; Lord Petyr was always asking for kisses and trying to grab her. Sweetrobin liked to throw his food along with his temper tantrums, which sent him into his shaking sickness. The boy's fits grew more and more frequent since his mother had died, and Maester Coleman often bore the brunt of bowls filled with untouched food throne. Sweetrobin had a very selective palate, and his options had been narrowed since Lysa had fallen with her breasts filled with milk. As Sansa's own breasts grew she found herself worrying that Sweetrobin would demand her as his future wetnurse. He had lost any true affection for her as a future wife when Lord Petyr had made it abundantly clear he had no intentions of marrying Alayne to the sickly lord.

Sansa pushed her growing body off of the mattress and stood, stretching her tired limbs as she encouraged wakefulness into her exhausted body. She had been tutored long and arduous hours by Petyr, who wanted her to know every detail of being a good hostess to learning each house and who they married. _He thinks me a good student, but Tyrion has taught me all this before_.

She closed her eyes as she waited for Gretchel to return with the log and aid her in dressing herself; the girl was more a lookout for hiding Sansa's growing belly than an actual help in dressing. In her wait Sansa tried to recall another memory. She did this so she would not forget the places and people she had come to love, even if Westeros descended into chaos. Sansa closed her eyes and tried to recall Tyrion's face. His sharp, keen green eyes were the first to come to memory. _Oh, my little one, how I hope you have those emerald eyes. A reminder of your father_. Then his curly blond hair, his short nose and prominent brow softened by the locks. And then the scar which cut across his face, ragged and thick. She had been scared of him at first when he had returned from recovery after the Blackwater. He had looked like an angry monster, the monster the court whispered he was. But Sansa had been introduced to real monsters, and knew better than to let the scar define who he was. She found she missed his face, his pink lips which kissed her so gently. She missed touching it and kissing it herself.

The door opening once again pulled Sansa from her daydreams as Gretchel returned to the room, logs in her arms. "I hope I have not disturbed you, my lady. You looked to be sleeping on your feet."

"Oh? I did not mean to give you any false impressions, Gretchel. I was merely remembering."

"Ah yes, the better times in Winterfell, right my lady?"

"Yes," Sansa lied as she watched the maid kneel before the fire and lay the logs gently on the flames. "Are you ready to dress me for my breaking of fast when you have finished with the fire?"

"Of course, Lady Alayne. I know you are probably a bit late to the morning entertainment. Please, fetch a dress from the closet and I will dress you." Gretchel responded. Sansa obeyed the maid's request and went to the giant closet which was filled with her dead aunt's clothing. The clothing was once too big for her smaller frame, but as Sansa's girth grew, she was glad for the extra fabric her stout aunt required.

Sansa searched for several minutes through the gowns before deciding on a deep grey velvet gown, plain and simple. She did not wish to wear anything attention drawing as Lord Petyr had encouraged her yesterday. She pulled it from the closet as Gretchel returned to her side to help her dress in the gown.

"You look very handsome, my lady." Gretchel encouraged Sansa as she tied the strings on the back of the gown.

"Do I look with child?,that is what is important." Sansa turned to show Gretchel her profile when the girl finished the ties.

"I could tell now, my lady. But I do not think a man's untrained and simple eye would guess anything than your dress is rather loose on your body. Perhaps a bit unflattering?"

"Good," An unflattering dress might draw away Littlefinger's attentions from her. Though she doubted very much that she would ever truly succeed in doing that.

"Lady Alayne," Gretchel asked as Sansa turned, pulling her hair out from under the gown's neckline and fingerbrushing it over her shoulders.

"What is it, Gretchel?" Sansa looked the girl in her dark eyes as she smoothed the dress over her body, placing her hand on her belly's bump.

"I was wondering, and this is a foolish question and you may chastise me for even wondering, but I notice that ring on your finger." Gretchel indicated to Sansa's left hand. Sansa looked down to see the lion sigil winking back up at her.

"What of it?" Sansa wrapped her right fingers around her left, concealing the ring with her hand.

"I was just curious as to where you would have gotten such a ring. It looks to me to be a man's ring…"

"You ask many questions, Gretchel." Sansa replied.

"I just know that the Lannisters have a sigil with the lion and it does have ruby eyes and—"

"What a funny coincidence, thank you for bringing it to my attention." Sansa interrupted the curious maid's pondering. "It was given to me by a very dear…friend. And it allows me to think on them, so it has very sentimental meaning to me."

"Of course, my lady, I did not mean to upset you with my inquiry. I just wanted to know…it does not matter."

"No, it does not. Now, I am going to break my fast in the Great Hall. Perhaps you would like to join me for a walk in the gardens when we have finished our meals?"

"I do not understand your fondness for the winter winds out there, my lady. The snow has been falling for days and yet you insist on walking through the snow covered paths."

"It heats my blood, Gretchel. My body loves the kiss of the cold breeze." Sansa sighed. "I suppose I can take my own walk. But please meet me in here after the midday meal."

"Of course, my lady." Gretchel curtsied.

"No need for the formality, now go on. Go to the servant's quarters and feed your growling belly." Sansa laughed, pointing her toward the door. Gretchel obeyed eagerly, bounding out the door in a near sprint.

Sansa herself felt her belly calling for hunger. She had an increased appetite in the past few weeks, her baby demanding more food for his growing body. Her stomach was rolling with the need to eat, while her baby kicked in loud protest for her not eating. Sansa sighed. "Will you be so demanding when you are in my arms, little one?" She rubbed her belly one more time.

* * *

The Great Hall was filled with more people than she thought. Sansa entered to Lord Petyr already sitting at the table with Sweetrobin and Maester Coleman. Several more servants were gathered around the table, and Lord Petyr seemed to be instructing them.

"Ah, my sweet daughter, Alayne. You have decided to finally join us for our morning feast. Come, kiss your father like the good daughter you are." Lord Baelish commanded. Sansa sighed, but obeyed as she walked around the table to place a kiss on his cheek.

"What is the meaning of this gathering, father?" Sansa asked Littlefinger. He grinned at her.

"I have decided it is time for us to return to the Gates of the Moon as winter has fallen upon us. I will go first and prepare the castle, and deal with some business which you and Lord Robert need not be concerned with."

_He is leaving me? He is leaving me here with Lord Robin and the servants! I may yet be able to get through my childbearing in secret. Perhaps when he calls us to the seat of the Vale I will be near my time? He cannot stop me then! And Mya Stone will be there, she is a kind girl. She would help me-_

"I will send for you and Sweetrobin in three weeks' time." Lord Baelish told Sansa. Sansa nodded her head. "Sit, Alayne, there is no need to watch us break our fast. I am sure you are hungry."

"I want eggs!" Sweetrobin started again. Sansa rolled her eyes and fought the urge to slap him for his spoiled behavior. They were denied eggs and all other fresh goods as the Lord Declarants fought for custody over Sweetrobin. _Perhaps now that they have made a bargain with Littlefinger, perhaps they will send Mya Stone up the cliffside one more time to bring us food_. Sansa pondered.

Though, if she were the Lord Declarants, she would have better sense than to trust Lord Petyr's words. No, it was not she that would have better sense. It was Tyrion speaking into her mind that gave her better sense. As she lived under the eyes of Lord Petyr, Sansa began to realize more and more how much she owed her little lord husband. She said a silent prayer as she sat before a plate laden with porridge and sweets, more sweets than necessary for the breaking of fast. A prayer in thanks for her growing baby, who continued to kick in protest, and a prayer for her lost husband. She hoped the prayer was not in vain, as it seemed that no one knew where exactly Tyrion had gone, and it was nearly two moon's passings since he had escaped his trial. Sansa was glad for the lack of news; after all, if he was not captured or killed then he could very possibly be alive. That was the hope she clung to at the very least.

Sansa then took to the cakes which were piled on a plate before her. They were still warm from the ovens, and she paused a moment before placing the treat in her mouth to savor the smell of the sweet. She then began to eat with relish, licking her fingers as she finished one cake after the other. While she ate with rigor she listened intently to Lord Petyr's plan.

"Now, Mya Stone will return with her mules in three weeks' time and she will come and fetch his lordship and Alayne to bring you to the seat. Do you think your lordship will be able to manage coming down without a fuss?" Lord Petyr asked as he glanced down at his stepson. Sweetrobin knew better than to argue with the no-nonsense parent he had inherited and shook his long locks. His mother was the only one to trim his hair, and he refused any blade that came near his growing brown hair.

"I will come down without a fuss," Robert spoke up. Sansa knew the boy was fibbing. He was cruel to Sansa when he knew he could boss her around. But she was the only one to soothe his screams and tantrums, trying to calm the storm before the shaking fits.

"Alayne, you will be in charge of making sure that Lord Robert will be on his mule and to the seat of the Vale in three weeks' time." Lord Petyr looked over to her.

His grey eyes lingered on her face for too long and she flushed, looking down. She was often worried that he thought this was compliment in regards to his unwelcoming staring. She knew when he looked into her eyes that he was not seeing his bastard daughter Alayne Stone, or Sansa Stark, the heir to Winterfell. He was seeing Catelyn Tully in her blue eyes, more beautiful and within his power. He wanted to puppet her, pull her strings so that she became all his. _He is as greedy for me as Lysa was for him._

Sansa once again vocalized her agreement to the plan, interrupting him from his observation. She was still locked in a cage, with a different handler this time.

"Lord Robert, I believe that there are several things you are called to do this afternoon, if you would be so kind as to allow me and my daughter to have a few moments to one another to talk."

"I have nothing to do!" Sweetrobin cried out suddenly, smashing his spoon on the table. "I wanted eggs, and you do not give them! I do not want a bath! I do not want to read stupid books! I want my mother and I want eggs!" Sansa watched as the boy lost all control and screamed out in frustration.

"The dreammilk, Maester Coleman, if you please." Lord Petyr raised his hand to order the elderly man to stand.

"But, my lord, he can only have so much dreammilk before—"

"Did I ask you how much the lord can have, or did I tell you to administer it?"

"I don't want it!" Lord Robert screamed. Sansa covered her face with her hands as she waited for the seizures to kick in, spurned by the lord's emotionally distraught state.

It was not long before the boy was shaking and wetting himself, his head bouncing in the hands of Maester Coleman who had caught him before he fell to the ground. Sansa watched as the boy's body ignored his will and shook without control. It pained her to see the boy in such great pain and agony, but at the same time she knew that if he had obeyed and made less of a fuss he probably could have avoided it. _Have I become so cold and thoughtless?_ Sansa wondered as she watched the boy's limbs relax and his head lull to the side. Maester Coleman picked up the boy, who know reeked of piss, and carried him off.

"Now, Alayne, I trust you can manage the house while I am away."

"I will do my best, my lord." Sansa replied.

"Is there something amiss, Alayne?" Petyr asked, standing to reseat himself next to her. He reached for her hand, wrapping his fingers around hers.

"No, there is nothing wrong. I was just very worried about Sweetrobin's health. It upsets me when he has a tantrum like that—"

"I am sure it does. You must be so saddened by the spoiled little boy." Petyr's voice was filled with disbelief.

"Why do you inquire, my lord?"

"Lady Anya made a comment in regards to your wellbeing last night, asking me if I knew anything about what was wrong with you. She said you appear to have come down with a very serious and possibly permanent ailment. She did not wish to say further when I inquired what she meant, saying it was your business and not hers."

"I do not know what she is talking about? Perhaps I look more pale, what with my hair being as dark as it is and not meaning to be." Sansa knew it was exactly as Gretchel had said; a woman's knowing eyes would be able to see right through the long skirts and the thick layers to the rounding belly and the slight change in her gait.

"Mayhaps," Lord Petyr let out a less than amused smile.

"I must return to my quarters, my lord. I have several matters of the house with which I must attend to."

"Of course, Alayne," he grabbed hold of her wrist as she tried to leave. "You will be a great lady, a great woman of the house. Perhaps a great queen?"

"I do not know if that is what I want, my lord."

"Oh Sansa, if has little to do with what you want." Littlefinger stood and pulled her close, kissing her hard on the mouth. Sansa pushed him away as she did each time before, not wanting him any closer. The baby, which had stilled as she ate, kicked as he felt his mother's anxiety. Petyr let go of her mouth and pushed her away. "Go, be on your way."

Sansa wasted no time in picking up her skirts and fleeing from his presence to return to the safety of her room.


	31. Persuasion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Below is a lot of GRRM stuff, with of course my own flair mixed in because there's like a huge change in one of the character's plots (pun intended). Also, this chapter and the next are gonna be sorta longer, so bear with me :)- Lydia

Sansa walked down the halls of the castle quickly. She was off to fetch Sweetrobin for the descent down the mountain, the boy ignoring his express orders to appear at the Great Hall for their breaking of fast. Sansa had woken with a pain in her back; something she had hoped would reside in her night sleep. She had spent the day before with Gretchel walking about the castle and making sure the valuables and tapestries were taken down and stored in chests to be locked away in the bedrooms. She knew that no one would dare climb the Eyrie's mountain to reach the Vale, but Sansa could not help but want to make things more tidy. And ease her mind, even if her back would not be.

As she walked down the hall, her gate slowed by the discomfort developing in her joints she was stopped by Ser Lothor Brune who had stayed behind to help Sansa and Maester Coleman to managed the spirited, yet sickly young lord. "Lady Alayne."

"Ser Lothor," Sansa stopped to look up at the knight. He looked worn out and weary from spending the night outside Sweetrobin's door. Sansa had taken to looking the boy in his room at night so that he would not wander out and find her in her own bed. He would snuggle tightly against her, only to wake her with a shaking spell later that night. He usually wet the bed, a smell which made Sansa's stomach turn and left her bedless for the rest of the night.

"His lordship is refusing to leave the Vale."

"Then we shall have to make him, will we not?" Sansa asked as she looked down the hall where Gretchel stood outside the young lord's door with a look of annoyance.

"If anyone can talk him out of bed I am sure it is you, sweet lady." Ser Brune added kindly. He had grown fond of Alayne in their time in the Vale together, and Sansa would miss the smaller staff which allowed for greater intimacy and love among the small developing family. _They are such good servants, patient and hardworking. Even Ser Brune who looks fierce and hard, he too can have a kind heart._

"I suppose it is time for me to try my best." Sansa placed a hand atop her belly and stepped past the much bigger man. Gretchel summoned her more quickly with the waving of her hands.

"Mya Stone has arrived with the mules, my lady. She does not wish to wait much longer as the snow is coming in quickly." The servant looked hurried and anxious, so Sansa did her best to remain calm and collected. _They will feed off of my energy; they will look to me for strength. Just like the ladies barricaded in the castle during the Battle of Blackwater._

"I am sure we will not have much more trouble with Lord Robert. I will tease him with the prospect of lemon cakes and more sweets since we have been out of those for several days. Such a temptation would work on me."

"I am sure it would be much more convincing for a woman in your…condition." Gretchel glanced down at Sansa's growing belly.

"Perhaps I am blinded by my own desires for some lemon cakes, but you must admit, the sound of sweets is tempting for a little boy, is it not?"

"I suppose, my lady." The shouts of Sweetrobin could be heard from outside the door and Gretchel glanced at the wood nervously. "I do hope you are able to speak some sense into the little lord."

"Let us pray to the Seven," Sansa offered a smile.

She then turned to the door and took a deep breath before pushing it open. The room was dark and musty, the windows closed and covered by thick blue curtains. Sansa knew that the first thing she needed to do was open them in order to let the light in. Let Sweetrobin see her sad and disappointed face as he defied his stepfather's orders.

"Sweetrobin, may I enter?" She asked in formality.

One of the maids stationed in the young boy's room came to greet Sansa at the door. Her name was Maddy, and she like the rest looked— at the end of her patience and energy. "Have a care, Lady Alayne His lordship threw his chamber pot at the maester."

 _Of course he did._ Sansa groaned inwardly, but she offered a smile and nod to the woman for the warning. "Then he has none to throw at me. Perhaps there is some other work you should be doing? Go with Gretchel and be sure that all the windows are closed and shuttered. And the furnishings are covered."

"Of course, m'lady," Maddy stepped past Sansa as the younger woman walked into the dark room.

"It's only me, Sweetrobin."

"Are you alone?" She could hear him sniffling in the darkness.

"I am, my lord."

"Come close, then. Just you."

Sansa sighed as she shut the door firmly behind her. She was glad the door was thick, Gretchel could be trusted but Maddy would certainly speak of whatever she heard in the room to anyone who had ears to hear. With the heavy oak door between them even if the two women were eavesdropping they would hear nothing.

"Did Maester Coleman send you?"

"Not at all, my sweet boy." Sansa lied. "I heard my Sweetrobin was ailing." Sansa knew that they had to avoid dragging Lord Robert out of bed at all costs, for if he were upset and roughly handled he would most like have another shaking fit. "Are you hungry, my lord? Shall I send Maddy down for berries and cream, or some warm bread and butter?" Sansa cursed herself internally when she remembered that there was no more bread at the Vale. There was little left for the few servants to eat.

"I don't want food." Robin was defiant and she could see him cross his arms in the little light the cracks between the curtains offered. "I'm going to stay in bed today. You could read to me if you want."

 _My son will be disciplined for his insolent behavior, as you have shown be the dangers of being too rewarding and encouraging selfishness._ Sansa thought toward Robert as she smiled at him. "Oh, but it is too dark in here for reading. Has my Sweetrobin forgotten what day it is?" She knew he had certainly not.

"No," he said, "but I'm not going. I want to stay in bed. You could read to me about the Winged Knight."

The Winged Knight was Ser Artys Arryn, and legend had it that he had driven the First Men from the Vale and flown to the top of the Giant's Lance on a huge falcon to slay the Griffen King. Sweetrobin knew the hundred tales from memory, which only spurred Sansa's annoyance.

"Sweetling, we have to go," she told him. "I promise, I'll read you two tales of the Winged Night when we reach the Gates of the Moon."

"Three." Sansa fought her inward desire to slap the little boy as he demanded more from her.

"Three. Might I let some light in?" She stood anyway, determined to open the curtains regardless of the boy's permission.

"No. The light hurts my eyes. Come to bed, Alayne."

Sansa ignored him and went to the windows making sure to avoid the upended chamber pot. "I shan't open them very wide. Only enough to see my Sweetrobin's face."

He sniffled. "If you must."

When Sansa opened the curtains she was greeted by dancing dust motes and frosted window panes. She used her palm to brush at the frost to see the brilliant blue sky and the snow on the mountainside.

When she turned back to Robert she saw him propped up on pillows looking at her. He had impossibly spindly arms and legs, a soft concave chest and little belly, and his eyes were again red and runny. His hair spilled over his shoulders and he could easily be mistaken for a young girl. He was small and sickly, just as he was when he was born.

"You look very strong this morning, my lord. Shall I have Maddy and Gretchel fetch hot water for your bath? Maddy will scrub your back for you and wash your hair, to make you clean and lordly for your journey. Won't that be nice?"

"No! I hate Maddy. She has a wart on her eye and she scrubs so hard it hurts. My mommy never hurt me scrubbing."

"I will tell Maddy not to scrub my Sweetrobin so hard. You will feel better when you are fresh and clean."

"No bath, I told you! My head hurts most awfully."

"Shall I bring you a warm cloth for your brow? Or a cup of dreamwine? Only a little one, though. Mya Stone is waiting down at Sky, and she'll be hurt if you go to sleep on her. You know how much she loves you."

"I don't love her. She is just a mule girl." Robert sniffled in protest. "Maester Coleman put something vile in my milk last night, I could taste it. I wanted sweetmilk, but he wouldn't bring any. Not even when I commanded him. I am the lord, he should do what I say. No one does what I say."

"I'll speak to him, but only if you get up out of bed. It is beautiful outside, Sweetrobin. The sun is shining bright, a perfect day for going down the mountain. The mules are waiting down at Sky with Mya." She had lied about speaking to Maester Coleman, it was good for the boy to be refused something from time to time.

"I hate those smelly mules. One tried to bite me once. You tell that Mya that I am staying here." Robert's lip was quivering and he sounded as if he were about to cry. "No one can hurt me so long as I stay here. The Eyrie is impregnable."

"Who would want to hurt my Sweetrobin? Your lords and knights adore you, and the smallfolk cheer your name." He was afraid; ever since his mother had fallen he would not go out onto any of the balconies. Even the windows stirred fright in the young boy's heart.

She could not let Robert win this fight. Winter had enveloped the Eyrie, but at the Gates of the Moon autumn rained golden and warm, a small reprieve from the snows that had come hard and swift. The castle had already weathered three snowstorms in Lord Petyr's absence, and Sansa had no desire to starve to death in the walls of the castle. The Eyrie may be impregnable indeed, but it was also inaccessible.

"Sweetrobin," she said gently. "The descent will be ever so jolly, you will see. Ser Lothor will be with us, and Mya. Her mules have gone up and down this mountain a thousand times."

"I hate mules," he continued to resist. "Mules are nasty. I told you, one tried to bite me when I was little."

Robert had never learned to ride, so to him the even the smaller mules and donkeys were as fierce and scary as the dragons of myth. He had been brought to the Eyrie when he was six and had not left the walls of the castle since then. Sansa had to keep her resolve; she was a young girl as well, pregnant and alone in the Eyrie with no true friends. She had much to fear and yet she was moving forward, certainly the young boy before her could.

"Mya will keep the mules from biting, and I will be riding behind you. I am only a girl, not as brave and strong as you. And I have a small little baby inside of me making me even less strong and brave. If I can do it, I know you can, Sweetrobin."

"I could do it, but I choose not to." He replied. Sansa wanted to strangle the young boy, but if she was going to be rough with him she might as well call Ser Lothor to drag the boy out, naked and shivering in the cold. "Tell Mya I am going to stay abed. Perhaps I will come down on the morrow, if I feel better. Today is too cold out, and my head hurts. You can have some sweetmilk too, and I will tell Gretchel to bring us some honeycombs to eat. We will sleep and kiss and play games and you can read me about the Winged Knight."

"I will. Three tales, as I promised…when we reach the Gates of the Moon." Sansa was fighting every urge to do the task of dragging the little lord out for Ser Lothor. She took a deep breath before continuing her coaxing. "Lord Nestor has prepared a feast to welcome you, mushroom soup and venison and cake. You do not want to disappoint him, do you?"

"Will they be lemon cakes?" Lord Robert loved lemon cakes, perhaps because Sansa did.

"Lemony lemony lemon cakes and you can have as many as you like."

"A hundred? Could I have a hundred?"

"If it please you," Sansa held back her smile. She knew that she could gain the prince's attention by talking of sweets and treat. She reached forward and brushed her fingers through his hair. "Now, will you get out of bed and let us dress you?"

"I want a hundred lemon cakes and five tales!"

 _I'd like to give you a hundred spankings and five slaps._ _You would not dare behave like this if Petyr were here_. Sansa forced a smile anyway. "As my lord desires. But nothing until you are washed and dressed and on your way. Come, before the morning's gone."

Sweetrobin threw his skinny arms around her and kissed her. It was a little boy's kiss, clumsy and sweet. Sansa pulled away from the little lord in a kneejerk reaction. She did not want to be kissed by any more men. Lord Petyr had put his mouth upon hers far more times than she cared for. _Oh, Tyrion, there are times I wish I had stayed with you and ran with you by your side._ But it was too late, she was not Sansa Stark, she was Alayne Stone. And right now she had to keep her identity so she could escape from her own prison.

"That's enough. You can kiss me again when we reach the Gates, if you keep your word."

Maddy and Gretchel were waiting outside with Maester Coleman. The maester had washed the contents of the chamber pot from his hair and changed his robe. Lord Robert's squires turned up as well. Terrance and Gyles made Sansa think fondly of Podrick. _He was a good squire; it was good for Tyrion to have such an honorable young man in his keep._

"Lord Robert is feeling strong." She told the serving women. "Fetch hot water for his bath, but see you do not scald him. And do not pull on his hair when you brush out the tangles. He hates that. Terrance, lay out his lordship's riding clothes and his warmest cloak. Gyles, you may clean up that broken chamber pot."

Gyles made a face of displeasure. "I am no scrubwoman."

"I do not suppose you expect me to get on my hands and knees to help you out, Gyles. We all have to make sacrifices in this time if we wish to leave, and I am sorry I cannot be of more help."

"Do as Lady Alayne commands, or Lothor Brune will hear of it." Maester Coleman took Sansa's side. He followed her along the hallway and down the twisting stairs. "I am grateful for your intercession, my lady. You have a way with him. Must be the mother's touch blossoming." The man smiled. "Did you observe any shaking while you were with him?"

"His fingers trembled a little bit when I held his hand, that is all. He says you put something vile in his milk."

"Vile?" Coleman blinked at her. "I merely….is he bleeding from the nose?"

"No."

"Good, that is good." His chain clanked softly as he nodded, slowing his normally quick pace for Sansa's slower one.

"The descent…my lady, it might be safest if I mixed his lordship some milk of the poppy. Mya Stone could lash him over the back of her most surefooted mule whilst he slept."

"The Lord of the Eyrie cannot descend from his mountain tied up like a sack of barleycorn." Sansa shook her head at the image. Lord Petyr would not like the thought of Robert's weakness and frailty being flaunted. Though she was annoyed with Petyr for enjoying his time down in the warmer climate; she had found out much later that the urgent business he had been called down the mountain for was a wedding clear across the Vale. One he himself had brokered, and one rejected by the Lords Declarant. Petyr was there for appearances instead of using his influence to force Lord Robert down the mountain.

"Give his lordship a cup of sweetmilk," Sanas commanded. "That will stop him from shaking on the journey down."

"He had a cup not three days past." Coleman objected.

"And wanted another last night, and you refused him. I got to hear about that, maester. I had to deal with his whining and insolence."  
"It was too…. My lady, you do not understand. As I've told the Lord Protector, a pinch of sweetsleep will prevent the shaking, but it does not leave the flesh, and in time…"

"Time will not matter if his lordship has a shaking fit and falls of the mountain." _Though, I do wish he would_ , Sansa found herself bitterly thinking. "If my father were here, I know he would tell you to keep Lord Robert calm at all costs."

"I try, my lady, yet his fits grow ever more violent and his blood is so thin I dare not leech him anymore. Sweetsleep….you are certain he was not bleeding from the nose?"

"He was sniffling," Sansa admitted. "but I saw no blood."

"I must speak to the Lord Protector. This feast…is that wise, I wonder, after the strain of the descent?"

"It will not be a large feast. No more than forty guests, Lord Nestor and his household, the Knight of the Gate, a few lesser lords and their retainers…"

"Lord Robert mislikes strangers, you know that, and there will be drinking, noise…music. Music frightens him."

"Music soothes him, the harp especially. It is singing he cannot abide, since Marillion killed his mother." Sansa had grown used to lying for Petyr so she could keep her own head. "Lord Nestor will have no singers at the feast, only flutes and fiddles for the dancing. Just give him a cup of the sweetmilk before we go, and another for the feast, and there should be no trouble."

"Very well. But this must be the last. For half a year, or longer."

"You had best take that up with the Lord Protector." Sansa pushed through the door and crossed the yard. Maester Coleman followed beside her for the moment. She felt badly for her harsh insistence, the man truly cared what was best for his charge.

"And you, Lady Alayne? Are you comfortable for the travel?" Maester Coleman interrupted her thoughts, stopping her walk.

"I will be fine, Maester Coleman. My baby kicks and kicks, but he has not burst forth yet, nor do I think he is like to in the near future."

"If my lady insists, then I must obey." He bowed to her before going off to find his charge.

Sansa made her way through the snow blessed courtyard, taking in the sights of the freshly fallen snow, a tomb she was far too ready to escape. She was being buried alive her when she had left King's Landing to flourish. _I was lied to. Lord Petyr told me he was returning me to Winterfell and he has stuck me up in a tower in the most impregnable dead place._ The walls were even more eerie without Marillion's singing. The boy, accused of murdering Lady Lysa and raping Lady Alayne, had thrown himself out of one of the skyjails as he awaited trial. _He knew his fate all too well_.

Sansa tried to push the thoughts of tombs and frightening descents from her mind. She had to hide her fear so that she could appear strong for Lord Robert, and then he in turn would be strong for his servants. _But it is all just a farce, they know how weak their lord is, how useless he will be. Even my husband with his short stature was more clever and brave than the sickly little rat ever will be._ Sansa twisted the lionhead ring around her finger absently.

Petyr had sent word up to the Eyrie that there were men that had come to court informing the Lords Declarant that men were looking for Sansa Stark and the Imp. _They will not find the two of us together because of my foolishness._ Sansa wanted to cry as she stood alone in the yard. Though she reasoned that going with Tyrion would not have been any more fruitful; he was little and could hide most anywhere, she was growing daily in girth and clumsiness. And his life would surely be at stake if she gave birth on the run. No, she had done the right thing by leaving. Tyrion still had a chance, and she could still find someone to take her North, return to her father's allies.

Sansa was trying to embrace her mask of Alayne Stone. She knew she should be referring to herself as the girl, that her Father was not Ned Stark but was Petyr Baelish. But the kicking of the baby inside of her reminded her again and again of the truth. _I must become her, but I cannot lose myself to her._

"Boy out of bed?" Ser Lothor asked Sansa, pulling her from her thoughts. He had been in the winch room, most likely helping to wrestle chests of clothes and bales of cloth into huge oaken buckets that would be lowered to the waycastle Sky below.

"They are bathing him. He will be ready within in the hour."

"We best hope he is. Mya won't wait past midday."

"She'll wait," Sansa responded, clutching her belly as fear gripped her heart. "She has to wait."

"Do not be so certain, m'lady. She is half mule herself, that one. I think she would leave us all to starve before she would put those animals at risk." Ser Lothor spoke with a smile, however. He always spoke with a smile when he talked of Mya Stone. She was much younger than the knight, but it did not deter Ser Lothor from developing a fancy for the young woman. _Innocence and experience make for a perfect marriage_. Lord Petyr had told her once. The saying had made her think of Tyrion far more than she liked, and when it came to memory she felt a pang of longing.

 _He was my experience. He was right in telling me to mistrust Littlefinger, and I was his innocence. He was able to love me, truly love me as I came to him without gold._ Sansa bit her lip as she fought back tears. _Did I love him? Perhaps I was beginning to. He was right when he said affection would come in time, but I certainly thought these thoughts and feelings would stop when I had left his side. Oh, why do they grow so much stronger?_

"M'lady," Ser Lothor interrupted her thoughts. "you had best know. Mya did not come up alone. Lady Myranda's with her."

"Oh." Sansa could feel the blood drain from her cheeks. Myranda Royce was Lord Nestor's daughter. The one time Sansa had visited the Gates of the Moon, on the way up to the Eyrie, she had been been away, but Sansa had heard much of the girl since then from the Eyrie's soldiers and serving girls. Her mother was long dead, so Lady Myranda kept her father's castle for him; it was a much livelier court when she was home than when she was away, rumor had it.

Petyr had told Sansa to be careful when she met Myranda; she played the merry fool, but she was much shrewder than the men of the Gates. Sansa had best watch her tongue around her. _Of course, Lord Petyr, you did not think that I would come with more evidence for my lies than my words._ Sansa could not keep her arms from shaking at the thought of Myranda discovering Alayne in such a state, what with Lord Petyr himself not knowing.

"Robert will be pleased. He likes Myranda. You must excuse me, ser, as I need to finish packing." Sansa turned and climbed the steps to her room one last time. She had only returned to the stripped and shuttered room to pull on the last articles of clothing to keep her warm. She pulled on a lambswool overtunic and hooded fur cloak, fastening it with a mockingbird pin that had been a gift from Petyr. She then pulled on her riding boots, leather gloves, and scarf, protection against the bitter winds they would be exposed to on the mountain cliff. She felt even fatter and furrier with the added layers, her baby kicking below the clothing made her even more exhausted and short tempered. She took one last look at her room and then left.

When she arrived at the winch room Mya Stone was waiting impatiently with Lothor Brune and Mord. She was slim and sinewy, but tough as the leather riding clothes and chain mail she wore. Her hair was black as raven, short and shaggy. She was a Baratheon bastard, though she liked to tell people she had been born of an owl mother and a goat father. Sansa had learned the true story from Maddy. When Mya looked over at her Sansa could see the dark eyes of Robert Baratheon.

"Where is he?" The bastard girl demanded.

"His lordship is being bathed and dressed."

"He needs to make some haste. It is getting colder, can't you feel it? We need to get below snow before the sun goes down."

"How bad is the wind?" Sansa asked the girl.

"It could be worse, and it will be after dark. If he bathes much longer, we will be trapped up here all winter with nothing to eat except each other."

Sansa wanted to abandon the troublesome boy, but she certainly could not say that in the company of the servants. She was their representative, and she certainly could not give any hints that she had little faith in his power.

Robert arrived before Sansa had to worry about what to say to Mya, dressed in velvet with a chain of gold and sapphires. He looked ornate and regal, what with his servants tailing him closely to keep his cloak from dragging on the ground.

"My lord," Mya said. "Will you ride down with me?"

She was too brusque with the little boy. She should have smiled, told him how strong and brave he looks, like talking to a boy of three.

"I want Alayne," Robin protested. "I'll only go with her."

"The bucket can hold all three of us."

"I just want Alayne. You smell all stinky, like a mule."

"As you wish," Mya's face showed no emotion as she let Sansa and Sweetrobin climb into the basket. Sansa's heart was in her throat the whole descent down.


	32. Cliffs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More GRRM words and situations. But guys, Randa Royce is here, and I am beyond excited for this!   
> Reviews and Critiques are always welcomed and encouraged!

Sansa was glad to be back on the solid ground when the basket finally touched earth near the castle of Sky. It was not much of castle, however, but a crescent-shaped wall of old unmortared stone, enclosing a stony ledge and the yawning mouth of a cavern. Inside were storehouses and stable, a long hall, and the handholds that led up to the Eyrie.

            Twenty mules awaited them within the stone wall, along with two mule walkers and Lady Myranda. She was short and round, but young nonetheless. She was sweetsmelling and broad of hip, her breasts were generous and her waist curved. She had chestnut curls, a small mouth, and lively brown eyes.

            “My lord, you have grown so big!” Myranda exclaimed when Robert approached her, kneeling in to the ground in order to kiss his hand and cheek.

            “Have I?” Robert was pleased with the compliment.

            “You will be taller than me soon,” Myranda clearly lied. “And you must be the Lord Protector’s daughter,” she looked to Sansa now, a smile crossing her small lips. “I had heard you were beautiful. I see that it is true.”

            “My lady is kind to say so,” Sansa curtsied to show her gratitude.

            “Kind?” Myranda let out a hearty laugh. “How boring that would be. I aspired to be wicked. You must tell me all your secrets on the ride down. May I call you Alayne?”

            Sansa knew that Petyr had warned her against Myranda, but something in Sansa’s middle told her that the woman was one to be trusted. She was sly and clever, no doubt, but the Stark girl felt that she was honorable and well intentioned in her schemes. Wicked was only what she wanted to appear as. “If you wish, my lady.” _Oh how I wish I could tell her all my secrets!_

            “I am ‘my lady’ at the Gates, but up here on the mountain you may call me Randa. How many years have you, Alayne?”

            _Sansa._ The girl yearned to correct her. “Five-and-ten, my lady.” Lord Petyr had told her to say she was older, not the same age as the four-and-ten Sansa Lannister.

            “Randa. It seems a hundred years since I was four-and-ten. How innocent I was. Are you still innocent, Alayne?”

            Sansa reddened; the layers must have made her look more plump and not pregnant. There was no use giving a lie to be proven false in a few hours’ time. “I am not, my lady, not any longer.”

            Myranda looked her over with a raised eyebrow, her dark eyes taking her image in and she soon understood. “I see you will not be giving the Lord Robert your maidenhead. I guess some ardent squire who may be wising to marry you.”

            Sansa rubbed the lion’s head on her finger subconsciously again. _I am already wedded and bedded, my fair lady_. She would have to tell Myranda at some point. Well, she would not have to, but she did want to.

            “No!” Robert cried out. “She is my friend and Terrence and Gyles cannot have her.”

            Mya then appeared with Maester Coleman and the squires. She took charge soon after stepping outside the basket the three had traveled down in. “We do not want to get bunched up on the mountain,” she spoke to the other mule handlers, “I’ll take Lord Robert and his companions. Ossy, you’ll bring down Ser Lothor and the rest, but give me an hour’s lead. Carrot, you’ll have charge of their chests and boxes.” She turned to Robert, her black hair blowing. “Which mule will you ride today, my lord?”

            “They are all stinky. I’ll have the grey one, with the chewed off ear. I want Alayne to ride with me. And Myranda too.”

            “Where the way is wide enough. Come, my lord, let’s get you on your mule. There’s a smell of snow in the air.”

            Sansa was edgy and nervous about the descent, she found herself grabbing her rounded belly hidden beneath the furs as her hands shook. The mounting and settling of the passengers took more than half hour. Sansa’s hips were aching as she stretched across the mule’s back, the small of her back pained as she tried to sit upright, her belly and her clothes weighing her down. Mya led the small group, Lord Robert close behind her, swaddled in his bearskin cloak. Sansa and Myranda followed then Gretchel and Maddy, then Terrence and Gyles. Maester Coleman brought up the rest with his extra mule laden with herbs and potions.

            The wind was sharp and cruel, just as Sansa had predicted. There were no trees to shield them, and they were assaulted by the gusts slamming into the rock face of the mountain. The sun was bright and the sky blue, falcons flying overhead, so Sansa did her best to think of the beautiful snowy scenery and not the plummet to certain death on her left side.

            They rode single file down the first portion of the mountain but the path widened soon after for two to ride side by side. Myranda hurried her mule so that she could ride next to Sansa.

            “We had a letter from you father,” she said, casually and collected as if she was sitting with her septa and not on the back of a mule on the side of the mountain. “He is on his way home, he says, and he hopes to see his darling daughter soon. He writes that Lyonel Cobray seems well pleased with his bride, and even more so with her dowry. I do hope Lord Lyonel remembers which one he needs to bed. Lady Waynwood turned up with the Knight of Ninestars at the wedding feast, Lord Petyr says, to everyone’s astonishment.”

            “Anya Waynwood? Truly?” The Lords Declarants were being picked off one by one, down from six to three with this most recent union. Lord Petyr was wanting to win over who he could and discard those he could not. _What a lecherous man, but he knows how to play the game. I must give him that credit._ “Was there more?”

            “Not from your father, no, but we had other birds. The war goes on, everywhere but here. Riverrun has yielded, but Dragonstone and Storm’s End still hold for Lord Stannis.”

            “Lady Lysa was so wise, to keep us out of it.” Sansa was glad that she was nowhere near the fighting. She was more accustomed to winning wars of courtesy and honor, not blades and blood.

            “Yes, she was the very soul of wisdom, that good lady.” Myranda’s smile was shrewd, and Sansa had been taught by Tyrion’s dry manner to read a person’s doubt regardless of their words. “Why must mules be so bony and ill-tempered? Mya does not feed them enough. A nice fat mule would be more comfortable to ride. There is a new High Septon, did you know?” _I did, he was the one who preceded at Joffrey’s ill fated ceremony_. And Sansa could not disagree with the desire for more portly animals. Her growing body hurt more atop the mule than she could remember it ever aching before. “Oh, and the Night’s Watch has a boy commander, some bastard son of Eddard Stark’s.”

            “Jon Snow?!” Sansa blurted out, surprised.

            “Snow? Yes, it would be Snow, I suppose.”               

            Sansa was overjoyed to think of Jon. He was only her half-brother, but he was the only family he had left with Robb and Bran and Rickon and Arya dead. _I am a bastard too now, just like him_. Sansa found a longing in her to see him again. Perhaps when she had succeeded in returning to the North she could get the Wall to rally in her favor—

            “Our cousin Bronze Yohn had himself a melee at Runestone,” Myranda continued. “A small one, just for squires. It was meant for Harry the Heir to win the honors, and he did so.”

            “Harry the Heir?”

            “Lady Waynwood’s ward. Harrold Hardyng. I suppose we must call him Ser Harry now, Bronze Yohn knighted him.”

            “Oh, but I thought Lady Waynwood had sons of her own blood?” Sansa realized the question made her appear stupid so she quickly changed course. “I pray he proves a worthy night.”

            Myranda snorted in humor, surprising Sansa yet again. “I pray he gets the pox. He has a bastard daughter by some common girl, you know. My lord father had hoped to marry me to Harry, but Lady Waynwood would not hear of it. I do not know whether it was me she found unsuitable, or just the dowry. I do not need another husband. I had one once, but I killed him.”

            “You did?” Sansa was learning to accept that there was little surprise with Lady Myranda any longer.

            “Oh yes. He died on top of me. In me, if truth be told. You do know what goes on in a marriage bed, I hope?”

            Sansa thought of Tyrion, his tender touches. She thought of his smaller weight against her body, his manhood deep inside of her as he covered her with kisses and made her want to cry out. “That must have been dreadful, my lady. Him dying. There, I man, whilst...whilst he was…”

            “…fucking me?” Myranda shrugged. Sansa found the lady’s vulgarity and honesty a comfort. “Not to mention discourteous. He did not even have the common decency to plant a child in me. Old men have weak seed. So here I am, a widow, but scarce used. Harry could have done much worse. I daresay that he will. Lady Waynwood will most like marry him to one of her granddaughters, or one of Bronze Yohn’s.”

            “As you say, my lady.”

            “Randa. Come now, you can say it. Ran. Da.”

            “Randa.” _Just like Tyrion. How long did it take me to finally say his name to him and not my lord?_

            “Much better. I can see whoever fucked you is a man of strong seed, perhaps he should have lacked the decency to leave you with a babe. And I fear I must apologize, for I know you have bedded someone, but I am sure I have bedded much more. You will think me a dreadful slut, but I bedded that pretty boy Marillion. I did not know he was a monster. He sang beautifully, and could do the sweetest things with his fingers. I would never have taken him to bed if I had known he was going to push Lady Lysa through the Moon Door. I do not bed monsters, as a rule.”

            “He…he was the one who forced himself upon me.” Sansa figured she could spare this little lie for now, until she knew she could give Myranda her trust.

            “Oh, what a monster indeed. He is gone now, Alayne. I am sure Lord Petyr was glad that the boy took his own life for his crimes in the end.”

            “He does not know that I am…I am pregnant.”

            “Oh, I suppose that we have to tell him when we reach the Gates.”

            “Yes,” Sansa swallowed. “I do not want to get rid of my baby, however.”

            “A woman of the Faith, right? I mean, you studied there right? Understandable how you would see each baby as a gift from the Seven.”

            _This baby is a gift from the Seven._ Sansa wanted to say. “Yes, Randa.”         

            Myranda changed the topic when she saw Sansa growing uncomfortable. “You are prettier than me, but my breasts are larger. The maesters say large breasts produce no more milk than small ones, but I do not believe it. Have you ever known a wet nurse with small teats?”

            “Well, I do hope mine are sufficient enough.”

            “They look ample for a girl your age; of course they are most like larger than normal.” Myranda replied matter of factly. _Well, they were satisfactory enough for my lord_. Sansa could not help but recall the many hours spent abed, what with Myranda talking ceaselessly and boldly of it.

            “You know our Mya’s not a maid, I trust?”

            “Maddy told me.” Sansa replied.

            “Of course she did. She has a mouth as big as her thighs, and her thighs are enormous. Mychel Redfort was the one. He used to be Lyn Corbray’s squire. A real squire, not like that loutish lad Ser Lyn’s got squiring for him now. He only took that one on for coin, they say. Mychel was the best young swordsman in the Vale, and gallant…or so poor Mya thought, till he wed one of Bronze Yohn’s daughters. Lord Hoton gave him no choice in the matter, I am sure, but it was still a cruel thing to do to Mya.”

            “Ser Lothor is fond of her.” Sansa wanted to add something of her own to the conversation. “More than fond.”

            “Lothor Brune?” Myranda raised an eyebrow and a smile at the news. “Does she know? He has no hope, the poor man. My father’s tried to make a match for Mya, but she’ll have none of them. She is half mule that one.

            Sansa was glad for the gossip; it was nice to have someone to talk to and be comforted by, she had not had a friend in so long. Not like Jeyne Poole, her long lost friend from Winterfell.  “Do you think Ser Lothor likes her as she is, in mail and leather? Or does he dream of her draped in silks and velvets?”

            “He is a man. He dreams of her naked.”

            Sansa could not decide if Myranda was trying to get her to blush again or merely was bold. Sansa had spent all her blushes toward nudity in the first few times Tyrion was between her thighs, she had none left to give. She was certain that wherever he was, Tyrion thought of her naked. _I hope he does. I hope my memory is able to give something, a little comfort. I hope he touches that necklace I have given him and remembers me atop him, when he was the happiest._ Sansa surprised herself with her own brash thoughts.

            “You are not like most girls, they would be turning colors. Though I caught you blushing before and it is the most lovely shade of pink. I have not blushed for years, but I look like an apple when I do.” Myranda leaned closer to Sansa as she asked the next question. “Does your father plan to wed again?”

            “My father?” Sansa had not thought of Lord Petyr marrying again; it would mean bringing someone else into his fold, and she could not see that ending well for either party.

            “We all know how devoted he was to Lady Lysa, but he cannot mourn forever. He needs a pretty young wife to wash away all his grief. I imagine he could have his pick of half the noble maidens in the Vale. Who could be a better husband than our own bold Lord Protector? Though I do wish he had a better name than Littlefinger. How little is it, do you know?”

            “His finger? I do not know, and do not wish to care. But I do think that there are men who could be better husbands.” Sansa had not meant to voice the last sentence out aloud, but it was too late to take it back.

            “Oh? I see that your father has not impressed you? I am sure it was that Marillion who forcefully put that baby in your belly that taught you the ways of a good husband.” Myranda’s voice was dry, but she knew that the girl was not holding ill feelings towards Sansa. When Sansa glanced over she saw a smile on the girl’s face.

            They passed beneath a wind-carved arch, where long icicles clung to the pale stone, dripping down them. The path on the other side narrowed and plunged sharply for another hundred feet or more. Myranda was forced to follow behind Sansa once again, and the girl was sad for the lack of company. Sansa focused the energy she had spent speaking with Myranda to clinging to the saddle. Sansa noticed that the ice was slowly dripping to water, meaning the air was getting warmer as the group continued down the mountain. She could only look up once to see them, the rest of the time she had her fingers curled in the mule’s mane. To make matters worse, Sansa’s child kicked violently, most likely upset by the racing of her own heart. She wanted to whisper soothing words, but her voice was caught in her throat as she tried to force herself to breathe. _We are almost there. Mya’s mule has done this time and again, we shall live._

            Sansa clung tightly and before she knew it she was at the bottom with Mya and Lord Robert. Ahead stretched flat land, the wind shrieking across the icy and narrow path and ripping at her cloak.

            “It is wider than it looks,” Mya was telling Lord Robert in a cheerful voice. “A yard across, and no more than eight yards long, that’s nothing.”

            “Nothing,” Robert echoed her, nodding his head. Sansa caught sight of his hands in the mule’s mane, shaking and barely able to grab hold.

            _Oh no, please not now. Now is not the time for shaking spell._

            “It’s best to lead the mules across,” Mya said. “If it please my lord, I will take mine over first, then come back for yours.” Robert did not answer Mya, his red eyes staring at the narrow stretch of land before them. “I shan’t be long, my lord.”

            The bastard girl led her mule out from beneath the shelter of the spire, the wind caught her in its teeth, her cloak snapping and twisting in the air. Mya staggered, but regained her balance and pressed on.

            Sansa took hold of Robert’s gloved hand in her own to try to quell his shaking. “Sweetrobin, I am scared. Hold my hand, and help me get across. I know you are not afraid.”

            He looked at her, and his expression clearly revealed the opposite. “I am not?”

            “Not you. You are my winged knight, Ser Sweetrobin.”

            “The Winged Knight could fly.” Robert whispered.

            “Higher than the mountains,” Sansa squeezed his hand.

            “He could,” Lady Myranda’s voice joined in when she observed what was occurring.

            “Ser Sweetrobin,” Lord Robert said, and Alayne knew that she could not wait for Mya to return; it was now or never. She helped the boy dismount, and hand in hand they walked out onto the open land, their cloaks snapping and twisting behind them. _The wind sounds like a wolf. A ghost wolf. A big as the mountains. Oh, ghost wolf give me strength._

            Sansa closed her eyes as they stepped forward, taking a deep breath, and just as the descent had ended before she realized, so had the walk.

            Mya was on the other side to greet the pair, laughing and lifting Robert for a hug.

            “Be careful.” Sansa did not want to start a shaking spell. “He can hurt you, flailing. You wouldn’t think so, but he can.” She walked with Mya to a cleft in the rock to shield the sickly little lord while the two waited for the others to cross.

            Fresh mules awaited them, and a hot meal of stewed goats and onions. She ate with Mya and Myranda, her stomach already starving for more food. _Will I ever stop wanting to eat?_ She groaned inwardly as she inhaled the stew given her.

            “So you are brave as well as beautiful,” Myranda said to her.

            “No,” Sansa blushed at the compliment. “I am not. I was so scared. I do not think I could have crossed without Lord Robert.” She turned to Mya. “You almost fell.”

            “You are mistaken, I never fall.” Mya’s hair tumbled across her cheek, but did not hide her indignation.

            “Almost, I said. I saw you. Weren’t you afraid?”

            Mya shook her head. “I remember a man throwing me in the air when I was very little. He stands as tall as the sky, and he throws me up so high it feels as though I am flying. We are both laughing so much that I can hardly catch a breath, and finally I laughed so hard I wet myself, but that only makes him laugh louder. I was never afraid when he was throwing me. I knew that he would always be there to catch me.” She pushed back her hair as she told the anecdote. “Then one day he wasn’t. Men come and go. They lie, or die, or leave you. A mountain is not a man, though, and a Stone is a mountain’s daughter. I trust my father, and I trust my mules. I won’t fall. Best finish. We have a long way yet to go, and I can smell a storm.”

            Sansa looked over to Myranda who shrugged her shoulders, but complied. Sansa sighed and finished the few bites of stew she had remaining.

            The snow was falling before they even left the Stone, and was dusk was settling in. Lady Myranda had suggested that perhaps they might turn back and stay at the Stone, but Mya would not hear of it. She wanted to press on, slowly, but in an effort to reach home. So they did. And Mya’s mules performed wonderfully, knowing every rock and root on the path before them. The snow was falling around the group, and it made the last leg of the journey serene and peaceful. Sweetrobin drifted to sleep in the saddle, rocked by the swaying motion of his mule. Even Lady Myranda was yawning and complaining of being weary the further they travelled on.

            “We have apartments prepared for all of you.” Myranda informed Sansa, “but if you like you may share my bed tonight. It is large enough for four.”

            “I should be honored, my lady.”

            “Randa. Count yourself fortunate I am so tired. All I want to do is curl up and go to sleep. Usually when ladies share my bed they have to pay a pillow tax and tell me all about the wicked things they have done.”

            “What if they have not done any wicked things?”

            “You are with child; you have most certainly done wicked things, Alayne Stone. But if they have done no wicked thing, then they must confess all the wicked things they want to do.” Myranda yawned again. “I hope your feet are warm. I do hate bedmaids with cold feet.”

           Sansa was longing for the bed Myranda promised by the time the group had reached Lord Nestor’s castle. She dreamed of a featherbed, soft and warm, and deep, and piled highg with furs. _I will dream of Winterfell, I will dream of my son. I will dream of my husband who has been returned to us._

            Sansa was glad to be helped off a mule as servants and guardsmen came out to help the weary riders. One of Lord Petyr’s guardsmen emerged from within the keep to the surprise of Sansa. “Lady Alayne, the Lord Protector has been waiting for you.”

            “He is back?” Sansa’s heart dropped into her stomach. She was wanting to remove the heavy clothes, but she was not yet prepared to lie to the greatest deceiver of all.

            “At evenfall. You will find him in the west tower.”

 

Sansa obeyed immediately, not bothering to strip herself of the little mask she had left. Lord Petyr was in the room, sitting by a crackling fire and drinking hot mulled wine with three men Sansa did not know. They all rose when she entered, and Petyr’s smile was warm as he looked over at her.

            “Come and give your father a kiss, Alayne.” He commanded.

            Sansa came to his side and leaned over to kiss him. His arms were stretched open for a hug, but she refused him the intimacy. “I am sorry to intrude, Father. No one told me you had company.”

            “Never an intrusion, sweetling. I was just now telling these good knights what a dutiful daughter I had.”

            “Dutiful and beautiful,” said an elegant young man whose had thick blond hair down past his shoulders. The color made Sansa’s memory come back stronger of her husband’s own sandy gold locks.

            “Aye,” said a second knight with a salt-and-pepper beard and gnarled ham hands. “You left out that part, m’lord.”

            “I would do the same if she were my daughter.” Said the last knight, a short, wiry man with a wry smile, pointed nose, and bristly orange hair.

            “Are you louts?” Sansa asked teasingly, trying to keep the mood light. “Why, I took the three of you for gallant knights.”

            “Knights they are,” Petyr spoke for them. “Their gallantry has yet to be demonstrated, but we may hope. Allow me to present Ser Byron, Ser Morgath, and Ser Shadrich. Sers, the Lady Alayne, my natural and very clever daughter…with whom I must needs confer, if you will be so good as to excuse us.”

            The three knights bowed and withdrew, though the tall one with the blond hair kissed her hand before taking leave.

            “Hedge knights?” Sansa sked, when the door was closed.

            “Hungry knights. I thought it best we have a few more swords about us. The times grow ever more interesting, my sweetling, and when the times are interesting you can never have too many swords. The Merling King’s returned to Gulltown, and old Oswell had some tales to tell.”

            Sansa did not ask what tales, if Petyr wanted her to know he would have told her. “I did not expect you back so soon. I am glad you have come.” She lied.

            “I would never have known it from the kiss you have me.” He pulled her closer, caught her face between his hands, and kissed her on the lips for a long time. He was much stronger than Sansa as she fought against him. “Now that’s the sort of kiss that says welcome home. See that you do better next time.”

            Sansa glared at the man, saying nothing. Petyr looked down at her with his grey glimmering eyes, rage growing behind them. _I am just fueling the oncoming storm._ Sansa thought, regretfully.

            “You would not believe half of what is happening in King’s Landing, sweetling. Cersei stumbles from one idiocy to the next, helped along by her council of the deaf, the dim, and the blind. I always anticipated that she would beggar the realm and destroy herself, but I never expected she would do it quite so fast. It is quite vexing. I had hope to have four or five quiet year to plant some seeds and allow some fruits to ripen, but now…it is a good thing that I thrive on chaos. What little peace and order the five kings left us will not long survive the three queens, I fear.”

            “Three queens?” Sansa did not understand. But Petyr provided her no answer.

            “I have brought my sweet girl back a gift.”

            Sansa wanted nothing more from Petyr than to be brought back home. “Is it a gown?” She asked to amuse him.

            “Something better. Guess again.”

            “Jewelry?”

            “No jewels could hope to match my daughter’s eyes?”

            “Lemons? Did you find some lemons?” Sansa knew she had promised Lord Robert lemon cakes which required lemons, but right at this moment she wanted a few of those damn little cakes herself.

            Petyr took her by the hand and drew her into his lap. She held her breath, hoped that he was so wrapped in himself that he did not notice her clothes did not dent into a flat belly, but stayed tucked over a pregnant one.

            “I have made a marriage contract for you.”

            Sansa turned pale and pulled herself out of his lap. “A marriage…” She felt her throat tighten. _NO! I am married, wedded and bedded. My little lord husband’s seed is strong._ “I do not…I cannot marry, Father, I…I _am_ married. You know this.”

            “The dwarf wed Ned Stark’s daughter, not mine. Be that as it may. This is only a betrothal. The marriage must needs wait until Cersei is done and Sansa is safely widowed. And you must meet the boy and win his approval, Lady Waynwood will not make him marry against his will, she was quite firm on that.”

            “Lady Waynwood? Why would she marry one of her sons to a….to a….”

            “…bastard? For a start, you are the Lord Proctector’s bastard, never forget. The Waynwoods are very old and very proud, but not as rich as one might think, as I discovered when I began buying up their debt. Not that Lady Anya would ever sell a son for gold. A ward, however…young Harry’s only a cousin and the dower that I offered her ladyship was even larger than the one that Lyonel Corbray just collected. It had to be, for her to risk Bronze Yohn’s wroth. This will put all his plans awry. You are promised to Harrold Hardyng, sweetling, provided you can win his boyish heart…which should not be hard, for you.”

            “Harry the Heir?” Sansa recalled what Myranda had said to her on the mountains. “He was just knighted. And he has a bastard daughter by some common girl.”

            “And another on the way by a different wench. Harry can be a beguiling one, no doubt. Soft sandy hair, deep blue eyes, and dimples when he smiles. He is very gallant, I am told.” He teased her, reaching forward to draw her close. “Bastard born or no, sweetling, when this match is announce you will be the envy of every highborn maiden in the Vale, and a few from the riverlands and the Reach as well.”

            “Why?” Sans was lost. “Is Ser Harrold….how could he be Lady Waynwood’s heir. Does she not have sons of her own blood?”

            “Three. Daughters too, and grandsons.” His breath smelled of wine and mint as he pulled her closer.

            “Won’t they come before Harry, I don’t understand.”

            “You will. Listen. Lord Jasper Arryn, begin with him. Jon Arryn’s father. He begot three children, two sons and a daughter. Jon was the eldest, so the Eryie and the lordship passed to him. His sister Alys wed Ser Elys Waynwood, uncle to the present Lady Waynwood. Elys and Alys, isn’t that precious? Lord Jasper’s younger son, Ser Ronnel Arryn, wed a Belmore girl, but only rang her once or twice before dying of a bad belly. Their son Elbert was being born in one bed as poor Ronnel was dying in another down the hall. Are you paying close attention, sweetling?”

            Sansa was, as well as trying to keep her hand far from resting on her belly. “Yes. There was Jon and Alys and Ronnel. But Ronnel died.”      

            “Good. Now Jon Arrny married thrice, but his first wives gave him no children, so for long years his nephew Elbert was his heir. Meantime, Ely was plowing Alys quite dreadfully, and she was whelping once a year. She gave him nine children, eight girls and one precious little boy, another Jasper, after which she died exhausted. Boy Jasper, inconsiderate of the heroic efforts that had gone into getting him, got kicked in the head by a horse when he was three years old. A pox took two of his sisters soon after, leaving six. The eldest married Ser Denys Arryn, a distant cousin to the Lord of the Eyrie. There are several branches of the House Arryn scattered across the Vale, all as proud as they are penurious, save for the Gulltown Arryns, who had the rare good sense to marry merchants. They're rich, but less than couth, so no one talks about them. Ser Denys hailed from one of the poor, proud branches . . . but he was also a renowned jouster, handsome and gallant and brimming with courtesy. And he had that magic Arryn name, which made him ideal for the eldest Waynwood girl. Their children would be Arryns, and the next heirs to the Vale should any ill befall Elbert. Well, as it happened, Mad King Aerys befell Elbert. You know that story?"

            “The Mad King murdered him.” Tyrion had taught her well.

            “He did indeed. And soon after, Ser Denys left his pregnant Waynwood wife to ride to war. He died during the Battle of the Bells of an excess of gallantry and an axe. When they told his lady of his death she perished of grief, and her newborn son soon followed. No matter. Jon Arryn had gotten himself a young wife during the war; one he had reason to believe was fertile. He was very hopeful, I am sure, but you and I know that all he ever got from Lysa were stillbirths, and miscarriages, and poor Sweetrobin.

"Which brings us back to the five remaining daughters of Elys and Alys. The eldest had been left terribly scarred by the same pox that killed her sisters, so she became a septa. Another was seduced by a sellsword. Ser Elys cast her out, and she joined the silent sisters after her bastard died in infancy. The third wed the Lord of the Paps, but proved barren. The fourth was on her way to the riverlands to marry some Bracken when Burned Men carried her off. That left the youngest, who wed a landed knight sworn to the Waynwoods, gave him a son that she named Harrold, and perished." He turned her hand over and lightly kissed her wrist. "So tell me, sweetling—why is Harry the Heir?

“He is not Lady Waynwood’s heir. He is Robert’s heir. If Robert were to die…”

            “When Robert dies,” Petyr arched an eyebrow. “Our poor Sweetrobin is such a sickly boy; it is only a matter of time. When Robert dies, Harry the Heir becomes Lord Harrold, Defender of the Vale and the Lord of the Eyrie. Jon Arryn’s bannermen will never love me, nor our silly, shaking Robert, but they will love their dear Young Falcon…and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden’s cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back…why every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win back your birthright. So those are your gift from me, my sweet Sansa: Harry, the Eyrie, and Winterfell. That’s worth another kiss now, do you not think?”

            Sansa took a step back from him. _I have most certainly ruined his perfect plans._ Sansa blanched.

            “Come, my dear. I will help you with those heavy cloaks. You must be warm. And then we can kiss and embrace.”

            He stepped forward, pulling off her layers which had kept her warm, and hidden, on the journey. Sansa stood shocked, unable to pull away any longer. _I cannot lie anymore. He will know tomorrow, if not now._

            She stood before him, as he had dropped her last remaining cloak to the floor in disbelief. She placed her hands under her belly, pulling her dress tight over the visible bump.

            “Sansa…”

            “It was…it was Marillion.” She said.

            “Do you take me for a fool, woman?” Petyr struck her across the face. “You are a Lannister, far further in name.”

            Sansa cowered backward as another slap hit her square on her cheek.

 


	33. Waves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More GRRM structure (the scene is entirely my own!). Sorry if you are more frustrated by the end of this than satisfied, but hey, angst is my forte

Tyrion lay in the cot provided him in the belly of the  Shy Maid . He was once again on another boat, this time heading even further west from King’s Landing. How he even got this far was near unbelievable to himself.

Jaime had sent him off across the Narrow Sea to the wealthy home of Illyrio Mopatis in Pentos; the lord then sent Tyrion on a boat down the river Rhoyne to Volantis with four companions. As if things could not become even more strange, Tyrion had entered the boat not knowing why he was off to the southern city, but he soon discovered he was travelling with the exiled Jon Connington, close friend of Rhaegar Targaryen, and a supposed Aegon Targaryen. The two were headed to Volantis in search for the great Danaerys, the Mother of Dragons, in hopes of making a match between Aegon and Danaerys. His head was spinning with each of the details of his trip from the dungeons of King’s Landing to the  Shy Maid . As well as maintaining his new name. Yollo. Or sometimes Hugor Hill. It depended on the day and depended on the person.  Perhaps one day, if I continue to remember every day we’ve been apart, I will be able to tell Sansa. 

Though Sansa is not married to Hugor Hill or Yollo. She is not married to a foolish dwarf who is sailing away from his wife instead of searching for her.  He had wanted to turn around when he reached the home of Illyrio Mopatis; he had wanted to return to Westeros and make way for the Eyrie. It was the only sensible place for his wife to go; her aunt was alive there, and she would certainly be able to find sanctuary in the house of her same blood. No doubt the slippery spider Petyr Baelish was also waiting for Sansa at the Eyrie.  I should have told her, even if we were making love at the time. I should have told her that it was Littlefinger’s betrayal of her father was what took his head. Not her mistrust in my serpent sister.

But it was far too late for “what ifs” and turning backs; he was stuck on this boat to find the remaining Targaryen Queen; a girl married at the ripe age of fourteen to a Dothrakhi Khal, a proper Khaleesi in her own right.  A woman of strength and pride, no doubt, for her to come all the way from the grassy fields to the city of Volantis. And if it is true that she has liberated all of those cities, certainly she has the power which the young Targaryen looks for.

“Hugor,” A feminine voice called him. Tyrion sat up, waiting for his visitor to make her appearance. “Would you welcome my company?”

“Of course, Septa Lemore,” he called the woman into the room. She entered, no longer wearing her septa robes, garments she claimed looked to Westerosi. She needed to blend into the people of Volantis, for their safety of course.  Though I do not doubt she has her own personal gain in all of this.  “What brings you to my quarters so late at night?”

She gave him a wicked smile, her bright eyes watching him as she teasingly ran a hand through her brown hair. “Not to do wicked and awful things to you, my friend. I will continue to remind you that I pray for your lusty soul daily.”

Tyrion did want to fuck her; she was far older than he, but still comely and well shaped. She liked to flaunt this in front of him as she bathed daily on the shores of the river, standing before the entire crew naked. She claimed that all men and women were created with beautiful bodies by the gods and should be ashamed of nothing. Tyrion would be ashamed if she saw the hardness she caused in his cock.  Oh by the gods, I just need to fuck a woman.

“I thank you, of course, for the intercession.” Though I doubt anyone can cure a demon like me.

“I just wanted to see how you are doing this evening. I know the tumble into the Rhoyne has caused quite a…distraction. Has there been any sign of greyscale?”

Tyrion held in a groan; the last thing he wanted to talk about was being dragged into those murky and disgusting waters by the hands of the Stone Men. He did not know what was worse; the fact that he had been grabbed by the men and was introduced to the threat of the paralyzing greyscale, or the fact that he had survived.  Connington should have left me in the waters to drown.

“I prick my toes and fingers daily, just as Griff has instructed me.” Tyrion used the disgraced lord’s alias. “And I still feel every prick the dagger makes into the flesh.”

“Pain is sometimes a good thing, Hugor. It reminds us that we are alive, that we have something that we very well could lose.”

“The losing is most certainly worse than the actualization of pain.” Tyrion frowned at the woman as he disagreed with her.

“Sometimes we do not experience the pain of the realization of what we are given until it is taken from us.” Her voice was calm and even. Tyrion groaned; he did not need a lecture on a concept he understood so well. He needed her to lie underneath him and let him fuck her in reckless abandon, a way to put a poultice on his soul, since wine was forbidden him. “But the gods are good; just like your toes being pricked and responding with pain, when the gods take things from us, if we respond with heartache, they oft are merciful enough to give it back in some manner or another—if we are faithful and obedient.” She looked pointedly at him.

Tyrion groaned outwardly, showing his annoyance at her presence. “Thank you, dear septa. I suppose I should just accept that the gods are not going to bless a lust filled little beast like me by uniting me with the things I have lost.”

“And what is it you have lost, Hugor?”

He closed his mouth tightly as he looked at her; he had at first wanted to fuck her, but now was growing steadily annoyed with her prying and advice giving.  You have fucked before, you wench, I have seen the stretch marks on your belly. You have born a child…

The thought made Tyrion’s stomach turn with bile; the rocking of the boat making the feeling of needing to vomit much worse. He shook his head, trying to keep the feeling of nausea at bay as he pushed the septa away.

“Nothing of any importance; my innocence at such a young age, my honor, my pride.”

“I see,” she looked at him with eyes that showed that she did not believe him in the slightest.

“Now, we are landing in Selhorys in the morn, correct?”

“Yes, it seems we are, Hugor.” She responded softly.

“Then I should get some sleep, certain to be a big day, seeing as we are all getting off this fucking gods-forsaken boat.” He lay back on his cot, turning away from her.

“You are correct. I am on my way to my own quarters. I just wanted to wish you well dreams and be sure the gods are answering my prayers that the greyscale is being kept at bay.” She paused before walking out the door. “I may not give into your lust filled fantasies towards me, Hugor, but I do care for you. There is something you are missing indeed, and I cannot tell if you were the one to chase it away or it was ripped from you—“

Oh setpa, it was both. It was my stupidity and eagerness to have someone love me. And it was the cold, snakish hands of that Littlefinger.

“—but you are hurt. And I know that in times like these, prayer and meditation are blessings. I will repeat your name to the gods, Hugor, but you need to ask the gods yourself. Show them your piety and they will bless you.”

My wife showed the Seven her piety and her family was slaughtered, and she’s wandering about Westeros with a baby in her belly.  He closed his eyes fighting back tears; he was exhausted and drained from the trip, and his emotions were taking over as his logic suffered from the lack of sleep.

“Good night, septa.”

“Good night, and well dreams,” she whispered back to him, shutting the door gently.

Tyrion turned over to his back, his eyes drifting up to stare at the wooden ceiling. The candle by his bedside was growing smaller by the minute, and the shadows it cast were dark and deep. The sounds of the water lapping against the side of the boat could be heard in the stillness of the night. He was alone; he had not really come to this realization before. He was alone and he had no where else to turn to.

She is alone. My beautiful wife is alone out there.

But she isn’t. Another voice in his head answered him. His cheeks were burning with shame as he shut his eyes, picturing her round, pale face and high cheek bones. Her dancing blue eyes and her beautiful auburn hair. How could he think of fucking a septa? How could he think of anything but Sansa?

“Oh, my love, you never leave my mind.” He thought aloud, the whisper tickling his lower lip as it escaped.

He was frustrated, and when he was frustrated he wanted a good cup of wine. However, upon seeing Tyrion blackout drunk the first night on the voyage as he tried to drink away the memories of Sansa, the memories of killing his father, the captain had issued that the dwarf was not to have another cup while upon his ship.  The memories of Shae in his bed. The thought of my father torturing me with the thought of Tysha . How could anyone blame him for wanting to get blackout drunk? He had a first wife he had raped and shamed, one he thought for sure was dead in some city somewhere, until his father had left him with a final torment. “She is where the whores go.”  He had a whore who he thought loved him, who he thought he loved. And she betrayed him for the gold and cock of his father. The man who was sentencing his own son to death.

And what of my son? Do I have a son? And then there was Sansa, his second wife. The woman who had given him her coveted maidenhead so that he could give her family back what was taken from them.  I may not pray to the gods about my fortunes, but I will plead to them that she is safe and healthy, and that the babe stayed in her belly. He could not help her any further; his seed was now spent in his hand most nights as he no longer had the wine to help him sleep. Or the warmth and sweet scent of the beautiful Stark girl.     

How many months would she be if she was successfully carrying? He sometimes tried to count when he pricked his fingers. A reminder that he could die knowing he had done something in this world to make it better. He opened his eyes to look at his stunted fingers in the dying candle light.

Of course, counting would be made much easier if she had known when his seed had taken. It could have been the first night he fucked her. It could have been the dozens of times between then and when she had left him. He figured he could count at least from their first night joined one and one. That was two months before he escaped from King’s Landing. Two and a half months before that was the Frey and Tully wedding, which ended only in heartbreak and pain.  Two months, then .

And how many from then? It was near a month across the Narrow Sea, he guessed. And a few more weeks in the house of Illyrio.  What of the time on this damned boat?  He guessed and counted on his fingers. He figured out that she would be near her sixth month of childbearing if she had gotten pregnant the first night.  What child could have taken plant in a womb that scared and alone?  He wondered. Perhaps it was safer to assume it was closer to five months? Neverless, she was more than half beyond her time and she was alone.

How could he think that he was alone and frustrated? How could he think that he had gotten a bad hand? Sansa was gods know where and she was a single woman with a growing belly.  How many will think her babe a bastard? I would think that. I would never believe that such a beautiful woman would fuck such an ugly monster. Especially after the realm has heard of the kinslaying I have done. Perhaps it is best if I never see Sansa again. I am the monster they all claimed me to be. I have murdered and raped and betrayed. Sanas does not need me.

But I need her.

Tyrion could feel the burning in his throat, his neck feeling raw and sore as he blinked back tears. He reached beneath the neckline of his tunic and lightly ran his fingers across the dragonfly.  What will she name her son? Will she name him Eddard? Or perhaps Brandon after the many successful Brandons of House Stark? A homage to the direwolf and her lost, crippled brother?  Tyrion could not help but smile at the thought of the determined young Stark who he had been able to pull from the hands of sullenness by encouraging him that his weakness could be overcome.  Cripples, bastards, and broken things.

And what would his broken wife give birth to? Would he pass on his horrible disfigurement to her perfect child, a beautiful babe with stunted arms and legs?  She would love him all the same. She would tell him he would grow big and strong, and hold him close and sing him songs. He would not hear the snickers and the hurtful words when his Direwolf bitch mother was around. She will protect her son, and she will love him despite.

Tyrion ran his hands down his face, stopping to press his thumbs into his eyelids, massaging his weary and heavy eyes as he thought of Sansa.   Would he have my blonde hair in proof that Sansa spoke true of the bastard’s father? Would he have that cruel Lannister glare of green? Would he be as beautiful as his mother with fiery red hair and blue eyes?

“What is the use of all this wondering?” He groaned to himself, his fingers pinching Sansa’s necklace. “I will not see him. I have no need to see him. He would become a better King without his father. His mother’s counsel is enough.” He spoke aloud to try to convince himself that Sansa’s wisdom would be enough.

The worldly wisdom of a scared fourteen year old girl, a girl who would trust the songs of a Mockingbird instead of the roars of a lion.  But she had been listening for the howls of wolves and got nothing but silence. He could not blame her for not heeding his advice.

Oh, my beautiful wife. I just wish to see you once more before my meaningless existence has ended. I wish to know that I was able to give someone joy instead of grief. Perhaps Cersei was right for once, in all her foolish self pride, when she said you would be happier with something to love.

I just wish you could have loved me.

But she did not. She had come to care for him in some fashion or another, that fact was apparent in the way she had come to trust him with her naked body. He loved her. Though he was betrayed by Shae, he realized he had done the same thing to her as she had done to him—he had come to accept he was in love with something else. While Shae loved the clink of gold dragons, Tyrion had come to love the Stark girl who was forced into marriage with him.  She could have married Kevan. She could have chosen differently.  No, that was not fair. If she could have truly chosen differently she would have married Willas and would be living safely in High Garden.

Tyrion did not want to think anymore about the ways he had fucked Sansa’s life as much as he had fucked her body. His eyes were not cooperative, however, and he found sleep would not come easy.   

At least he had the memory of fucking her body.

He was a despicable person for closing his eyes and imaging her while just hours earlier he was imagining the septa beneath his body. His father was right; lusting and drinking were his fortes, when he could do neither then he was completely incapable of daily life functions. Nonetheless, he was pulling his half hard cock from under his tunic.

He lay back, closing his eyes. He began to remember Sansa; her long legs, round and smooth, her taut tummy which was soft and warm when he fucked her from the front; her breasts, round and beautiful, the perfect size for his grabbing hands to cover and knead as he relished her body. Her cunt—oh yes, the thought of her cunt made him hard and ready. He loved making her sing with his cock, and he was becoming well learned in how to make her whine his name beneath him.

He paused for a moment, his cock in fist, to acknowledge that he had never cared before how Shae felt when he fucked her. He just cared what she could do for him. All the whores—his main concern was coming undone in their bodies, not having their bodies shaking and spasming under his touch.

He did not want to think further of his desire for Sansa’s happiness. He was thinking of her in the moment for his own lusty, selfish purpose because he was the Demon Monkey. Thinking of his disgraced daughter wife. He reminded himself of her woman’s parts; warm and moist and tight. She was a maiden when she came to him, something he had never had before. And her innocence in her experience was what endeared her to him quickly. He loved the pink flush she developed across her pale cheeks when she stared at his hardened cock; how they turned even more red when she realized he knew she was looking.  She was too much a lady to look at the member on her own before my watching eyes.  He smirked to himself slightly as he jerked at it with his hand.

He found himself thinking of her face again, with its flushing embarrassment and pink tinged hue when he was done fucking her. He had loved running his fingers through her soft red hair, its smell pungent in his nose even now. Her rosey lips which he loved to kiss. He could still remember his first few kisses meant in earnest with her; how unsure and timid she was under his own. Tyrion smiled as he continued to pull at himself. Her eyes; he had to think of her eyes lastly. They were the richest blue he had seen, and he never thought he could see them smile. But before they were separated— before she left me— he had seen her eyes light up at him. Her smile was joined with true happiness. She watched him intently as he held to her, thrusting at her lower half, but keeping eye contact with her.

Oh god, it was only a few times I fucked her that she looked at me. That I could see the desire in her eyes, I could see her need rising. And when I hit her sweet spots, I could see her pleasure.  And her face when he brought her to her end, her blue eyes hiding behind her closing lids. Her head tilting back into the pillow, haloing her hair around her, her chest bucking up towards him. And her mouth twisting into a circle.  Or shouting my name. If the gods be truly good and unite me with her, I will fuck her somewhere where she can call my name, if she is in want of me.

And in his mind now he could give her that freedom, he could imagine her head tilting back and her eyes disappearing behind their lids. He could imagine her grabbing his arms while her pelvis slammed into his, her body arching to get as close to him as it could. And then he could imagine her calling his name  “Tyrion!!” —

“Sansa!” He cried as he reached his own release. He had not meant to call her name outloud. Tyrion stilled himself, listening intently for any sounds on the boat that hinted he had been heard. But the waters lapped lazily against the sides, and the sails billowed gently in the wind. The ship was silent.

Tyrion let out the breath he did not realize he was holding then tucked his softened manhood back under his tunic. He turned to his side, the panting face of a spent Sansa in his mind as he closed his eyes.

She may not love me. I may not ever get that from her. But gods be good if I could give her the one thing she wanted. I can love her. I can love her even when it hurts me. And when my penance is paid, perhaps the gods will bring my lost Queen to me again.


	34. Bruises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who have left wonderful comments, and who have left kudos and bookmarked this story! I truly appreciate the interest taken :) Also, I wanted to direct you to some awesome coverart that essentialasiar (http://essentialasair.tumblr.com) made for this work (http://essentialasair.tumblr.com/post/87472781821/desperate-to-connect-by-thelovelylydia-aka). She has plenty more manips and gif sets over on her tumblr for this pair that are magnificent! As well as other cover arts for ficts you may want to check out inbetween updates on this one! Well, thank you again, my amazing readers! And happy Tuesday!

“Alayne?” Myranda’s voice was strong and determined as she rapped softly on the door. Sansa sat in front of her vanity, her hands were shaking as she rested them on the surface before her. “Alayne, love, please open the door.”

            Sansa’s lip was quivering, and she could see tears filming her blue eyes in the looking glass, making them more bright in the bright sunlight spilling through her room’s windows. The light also spotlighted the bruise that had formed on one of her cheekbones, as well as a split lip. She worried the crack nervously, causing the taste of iron to flood her mouth.

            “Alayne, answer the door or I shall after to send a guard in after you.”

            “Alright!” Sansa could not hold against the just as stubborn Myranda, whom she had also shunned last night, taking to the apartments rather than the girl’s bed.

            “Alayne, we were worried when you did not come spend the night with me in my quarters. I was so hoping to hear all about your troublemaking ways.” Sansa watched Myranda enter the room, closing the door firmly behind her. “You were not at the breaking of fast this morning, and your father, Lord Baelish, told us it was because you were feeling quite ill.”

            “He was right,” Sansa would not turn away from the vanity.

            “So I told him I would peek in on you afterwards, to be sure you would not want something to eat.” Her footsteps were louder as she approached behind. Sansa could feel her body stiffen, instinctively turning her face away from the shoulder which Myranda approached. “Come now, Alayne. We are friends, are we not? Could you not tell me, your loving Randa, what is the matter?”

            Sansa placed her head in her hands, bending over as best she could with her growing belly. “I do not think I could do that, Randa.”

            “Oh that is untrue, Alayne. Please,” she placed a hand on Sansa’s shoulder, “tell me what is going on below that dark hair of yours.” Myranda’s hand wrapped itself in the younger girl’s locks. Sansa finally caved, looking up at her. “Oh, Alayne! What has happened?”

            Myranda took to kneeling in front of her, placing hands on either side of her face. “Who has struck you? That awful little Lord Robin?”

            “No,” Sansa was doing her best to ignore the burn in her throat as she fought back tears. “It was not Lord Robin.” She tried to push away Myranda’s worrying hands.

            “There are things you are not telling me, Alayne Stone, which I think you should.” Myranda’s dark eyes were stern and soft at the same time. She rubbed a thumb lightly over the dark spot on Sansa’s left cheek bone, causing the girl to wince.

            “I cannot, I would be in so much trouble—“

            “There would be no trouble, Alayne.” Myranda rose and pulled Sansa in against her breasts, pressing her close to her in an embrace. Sansa could not hold her secret in any longer as the woman coddled her gently.

            “I am not Alayne Stone!” She cried, tears beginning to make their way down her cheeks. “I am Sansa Stark.”

            “Of course you are,” Myranda turned to the bowl of water on the table, grabbing the rag that was draped over the side. Her voice showed that she fully believed Sansa’s confession.

            “How—how did you know?”

            “Well, I had my suspicions when Lord Petyr brought a daughter to the Vale.” She wrung the cloth out into the bowl. “I mean, any sensible woman besides Lysa Arryn would drink moon tea to be rid of that snake’s child. And I grew up right outside Riverrun. I know many Tullys, Sansa, and many have been married into houses around here. Just like Lysa.” She knelt before Sansa again, placing the cloth gently on her swollen face, dabbing the skin. “And you have those rich blue Tully eyes. Not the eyes of some wench out wherever Lord Petyr has been running about with his tail betwixt his legs.”

            “If you knew, why did you not tell me?” Sansa looked down at her.

            “I needed you to trust me. And my father has not returned yet. When he sees you once more, truly sees you outside of Petyr’s Vale, he will know. Men are a little slower that way.” Myranda winked at her with a smile.

            “I am glad to have told someone.” Sansa confessed as she looked at the small bit she could see of her lap. “It is nice to not hold such a heavy secret.”

            “You may need to awhile longer, my love.” Myranda returned to the bowl, taking it in hand this time as she kneeled again before Sansa. She wrung the cloth in the cool water, refreshing the fabric to dab at Sansa’s bloodied lip. “Ser Shadrich, or Mad the Mouse as he is called in some parts, he is here in search of a Sansa Stark.”

            “Why?” Her heart was in her throat as her blue eyes widened.

            “Queen Regent Cersei has a bounty on your head and a bounty on the head of that dwarf husband of yours, the Imp.”

            “He is not dead?” Sansa bit her lip, causing Myranda to sigh in impatience. Her biting had split open the wound again.

            “No, he is not, dearling.” She grabbed Sansa’s wrist. “I am sorry to tell you.”

            Sansa hung her head. Of course Myranda would be sorry that Tyrion had not been killed; he was a Lannister. And the Royces hated Lannisters. _Oh, how will she be my confidant if I cannot tell her who my babe’s sire is?_

            “Why did Lord Baelish strike you, Sansa?” Myranda interrupted the woman’s thoughts.

            “What? How did you know it was he?”

            “What person has greater need or motivation to strike you? You come before him, pregnant. A fact you assured me yourself he did not know beforehand.”

            “It was because I was pregnant.” Sansa muttered.

            “I suppose having a baby in the belly of the future heir to the North could be a problem,” Myranda smiled wryly. “Was it truly Marillion? Is he this bastard’s father?”

            Sansa winced at the name. _Oh, Jon Snow, now I truly know what it must have been for you to grow up under such scrutiny and judgment_. She squeezed her eyes closed. “No.”

            “Well, it is a relief to find out I fucked merely a murderer and not a rapist.” Myranda let out a small chuckle to try and lighten the mood. It did little for Sansa’s nerves. “So if it was not Marillion, who fucked you, Sansa Stark? Did they force themselves upon you? They had to have; you are what, four and ten years? How can you be willing—“

            “It is Tyrion Lannister’s child. He is the only man I have known.”

            “The Imp?” Myranda asked in shock, rocking back on her haunches.

            “He treated me with kindness; he wanted to give me Winterfell. It was my idea, or rather Lady Margaery’s idea. But it was a true one!” Sansa pleaded with Myranda.

            “Lady Margaery put you up to this? Of High Garden?”

            “She suggested it—but….but Tyrion did not want to at first. I made him.”

            “Oh, come now, Sansa. If the tales be true, and I am certain they are from hearing what I did about his trial at the Eyrie, he lusts after every woman.”

            “No, he did not even bed me the night of our wedding. It was after, when my mother and my brother were killed. Arya and Bran and Rickon are gone—do you think I should just lay barren and hand over Winterfell to the Boltons? I have heard about their siege upon my home!”

            “You could have waited and taken advantage of what Lord Baelish was trying to give you. We could have set you up with a respectable family in Riverrun.”

            “No, I do not want a respectable family in Riverrun. The Lannisters, no matter how much you hate them, are a respectable and good sized home in Westeros. I could inherit Casterly Rock as well as Winterfell. Two homes for the future Starks.”

            “You only want Winterfell, Sansa. I can hear it in your voice.” Myranda sighed and stood. “Come; sit with me on the bed. If you are going to get worked up I want you to be somewhere that if you go into labor I do not have to drag you over there.” Myranda replied wryly.

            “I am not due for several more months.” Sansa followed the older girl anyway.

            “So you fucked the Imp?” Myranda looked over at her, incredulous.

            “I…I did.”

            “And the Halfman placed a baby in your belly.” Myranda lay back on the bed, her dark eyes going to watch the canopy above. “Who would have known that his seed was strong?”

            “He…he was good to me.”

            “I am sure he was, wanting to get a son and all to rule the North in. I would be kind to a young, foolish girl like you as well.” Sansa could tell from the woman’s smile that she meant no harm in her insult toward Sansa. She was truly mystified that Sansa had opened her legs to Tyrion. _Wouldn’t I be? Wasn’t I?_

            “No,” Sansa lay back on the bed next to her. “He truly was kind to me. He protected me, from his family. I mean, the Lannisters are not a family who takes care of one another.”

            “No, I suppose they would not be.” Myranda sighed. “So—was he like a normal man?”

            “What?” Sansa half sat up, looking at Myranda with wide eyes.

            “I mean his cock! Was it normal or was it dwarfed, just like him?”

            “I do not know,” Sansa reddened. “I have seen no other man naked.”

            “Of course you have not.” Myranda smiled at her. “Was he good from all that practice?”

            “He pleased me,” Sansa’s cheeks were hot in her confession. “He made my body…feel good.”

            “Then it seems he learned a trick or two,” Myranda reached out to curl her fingers through Sansa’s darkened hair. “You love him.”

            The statement was simple and straightforward, yet Sansa found herself trembling. “I…I believe I do.”         

            “Oh, Sansa.”

            “I am a foolish girl, I know.”

            “You are a lot more clever than you think.”

            “But I bedded the Imp—“

            “Sansa, do not call him that. You do not believe the name in the least, and I can hear it in your voice that it now pains you to say it.”

            “I bedded a Lannister,” Sansa was glad that Myranda was sensitive to her needs. “I bedded him and I am pregnant here without him as a witness.”

            “You were married to him; the Northern cause may not believe that he did not force himself upon you, but they will believe more like that it is his child.”

            Sansa placed a hand on her round belly. “But what am I to do if I cannot even be myself? I do not want to die at the hands of Cersei.”

            “And I will not let you. We will make for Riverrun in the next day or so.” Myranda replied. “There is no need to keep you here where Mad the Mouse wants your head for money and your father, or rather your _uncle_ , Lord Baelish wants nothing more to wed you and bed you himself.”

            “How do you know that?”

            “I am certain that Tyrion had the same look in his eyes when he saw you naked; that hunger and thirst to have your body.”

            “He did, though his eyes were kinder.”

            “Sansa, Lord Baelish wants power. If he were to wed and bed you, put an heir in you, he would then claim the North.”

            “But my first son is—“

            “A bastard, and at danger in the hands of Lord Baelish.”

            “He will not touch my son!” Sansa cried as she sat up.          

            “Which is further reason we need to leave here, Sansa. The weather is nice, but only for so long. We will go to your great Uncle Brynden Tully.”

            “I heard from Lord Baelish that he was lost when my Uncle Edmure was taken by the Lannisters.”

            “A fish will always return to his River. He is most like hiding out in the walls of Riverrun. They will permit you to enter. Perhaps if we reveal to him that the child you have is a Lannister, we can conceive a deal with the Lannisters of Casterly Rock. The babe is the castle’s heir, is he not?”

            “He would not be.” Sansa shook her head. “Riverrun was taken from the Tullys by the Freys.”

            “We will go to Fairmarket, or the Pink Maiden. Though he is more sure to be hiding out in Fairmarket. The bands there kill Freys, they would be sympathetic to a Tully. Then we will ask Ser Brynden for his wise counsel. And he will take in his great niece. He loved your mother, he loves your family. And is not the Tully motto “Family, Duty, Honor”? You are a Tully, even if your surname is Stark, or at the very least was Stark. I suppose you are Sansa Lannister now.”

            “We do not need to make that knowledge widely known.”

            “No, we do not.” Myranda agreed with Sansa. “How long do you think you can keep that baby in your belly?”

            “A couple more months, I would guess.”

            “We will need to be leaving soon, then. To be sure that you are not giving birth on the road. That would not be very helpful in our journey.”

            “No, it would not. I do not wish to go through that ordeal in a place I do not know.”

           “Nor do I, Sansa. We will just have to slip past your uncle and Mad. Men who are in desperation for power are often foolish, but are no less dangerous. Their unpredictable risk taking can be much more dangerous.”

            “Why are you doing this, Randa?” Sansa asked the girl.

            “I want to see the North resurrected, Sansa Stark. And if you are the remaining link we have, even with a Lannister baby in your belly, well I will take it. I would rather have a Lannister raised by wolf’s blood than be ruled under the Lion Fawns any longer. We are our own country, and we the Vale only wish to serve a king in the North, and we need a Stark back in Winterfell. The Boltons do no good to our Northern blood and cause.”

            “But what can I truly do with a bastard baby in my belly?”

            “Sansa, no one is sure if your husband is dead. And perchance he is not. Do you believe his word to you was good?”

            “He wants my love more than I desire for his. He wants this peace more than I do. I am certain that if he were to return to me…that he would give my son the North and leave his lion’s blood out of it. Especially since his father is dead. There is none to reign him back to the pride, seeing as his sister also wants him dead. But how are we to find him?”

            “If the gods were kind to you in giving you a little toothless lion, perhaps they will permit him to return to you.”

            “He is not toothless, my lady. He is as able to savage, but he chooses mercy towards me.”

            “The Tully woman’s blood is good at soothing savage beasts,” Myranda remarked, a smile aimed at Sansa. “If you can tame the lion and teach your wolf cub to grow up with the honor of Eddard Stark, then we shall have peace between a Stark and Lannister yet.”

            “My husband had the honor that my father wanted for a man to have.”

            “Then I am eager for no more time to pass.”

            “Just get me out of here.”

            “Shall we take your little Lord Robin?”

            “If we leave him, Lord Petyr will certainly kill him.” Sansa worried her lip, splitting open the scab again.

            “That is a risk…” Myranda nodded. “Though, he would be of no aid to your army.”

            “Army?”

“I intend to get the Northern lands and Riverlands to stand behind you, Sansa.”

            “Lord Baelish was going to do that by marrying me to Harrold Hardying.”

            “Oh, fuck Harry the Heir. Not literally. I would rather keep his pink sword as far from you as possible. Though, he may make for a good ally. Perhaps we can talk with him after you have returned to your mother’s lands.” Myranda sat up. “I will go and speak with Mya Stone, we will use her mules to get to Fairmarket. The girl is devoted to me; she will obey with no question. Pack your things, Sansa.”

            “As you say, Lady Randa.”

            “We will return you to your home. I promise that.” Myranda stood, looking down at Sansa with steeled determination in her brown eyes. As she turned to exit, a pounding on the door startled the both.

            “Lady Myranda! Lady Alayne!” A voice called on the other side. Myranda turned to Sansa, who nodded her head in agreement. Myranda strode forward and opened the door.

            “Ser Lothor!” Myranda exclaimed. Sansa was to her feet in seconds, quickly joining the older girl’s side. “Why are you here?”

            “I have news for the two of you,” The knight’s face was pale, a veil of sweat sheened the rough skin.

            “Then tell it to us!” Myranda’s voice suggested her patience was growing thin.

            “Lord…Lord Robert was found this morning…he…he died in his sleep last night.”

            “What?” Myranda asked, looking back at Sansa with wide eyes.

            “The Lord Protector went to wake his step son and he found the little boy in his bed not breathing. He must have choked during a shaking spell last night. Master Coleman is examining the body now. But Lord Baelish has commanded the presence of Lady Alayne in his grief. He says he wishes to be sure his daughter is well.”   

            “Of course he does,” Myranda murmured. “Well, Alayne, let us go together. I wish to know what Maester Coleman makes of the diagnosis. Thank you, Ser Lothor, we will be down as soon as Lady Alayne is dressed. I will help her myself.”

            “As you command, my lady.” Myranda shut the door behind the knight.

            “What are we to do, Randa? Certainly Lord Baelish will not let me out of his sight now.”

            “We will still go, Sansa. I promise, as your little lord husband did, to protect you. He seemed to do well with you when you were in his care, trust me to do the same in mine. We will get you out of the claws of the mockingbird; it may just take more time and a different strategy. But you will do as I say, will you not, Lady Sansa?”

            “Of course, if it means you will save my child.”

            “And what if it means I will save the North?” Myranda’s smile was wicked as she followed Sansa to the wardrobe to dress her for the day.

 


	35. Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And so the plot thickens! Thank you so much for the support! I have nearly 300 alerts and 150 favorites on this story? None of this would be possible without my readership! Also, if any are interested, I started a Tyrion/Sansa modern AU which can be found in the listings under the title "Family Matters", I hope to build a more light Sanrion relationship through that until I can unite these two in my fict! (Which, as the author, I really want them back together soon! But I can't justify rushing, so forgive me!). I hope you all enjoy this update- and look forward to the blast from Sansa's past which will be introduced next Tuesday! - Lydia

"It would appear that the boy did die during one of his shaking fits, we knew him to be sickly and weak, Randa. There is no need to jump to unfounded conclusions." Nestor Royce spoke over Myranda's attempts to accuse Petyr Baelish for the passing of the young lord a week before. Sansa had been brought by Myranda to the lord's quarters soon after the man arrived home. The Lord Royce had little time to greet his guests and visitors when his daughter come calling.

"Do you not think it strange that Lord Baelish has had Lysa Arryn die on his watch, and now his step son? There is far too much coincidence for me to be satisfied."

"Lysa Arryn was murdered by Marillion. Lady Alayne here testified to that very thing before me and your brother, Albar, when we ascended the mountain to see what had become of the lady of the Eyrie."

"I understand, father, but I think that the little mockingbird does nothing but lie through his teeth." Myranda made a face of disgust as she turned from her father, huffing in impatience.

"My daughter, I understand that you are apt to mistrust Littlefinger, as am I, but we cannot disservice his daughter and her word. Can we now?" Lord Royce looked to Sansa, however his gaze suggested something quite opposite of believing that Alayne Stone was telling the truth.

"Alayne, do you have something you wish to tell to my father?" Myranda had crossed her arms and turned to Sansa, one of her dark eyebrows raised.

"I suppose it is not something your father has not come to understand on his own terms." Sansa sighed. "I am afraid that I and Lord Baelish have been lying to you, Lord Royce. I am not Petyr Baelish's natural born daughter. I am Eddard Stark's natural born daughter, Sansa Stark." Sansa felt another weight lift off her shoulders, but she could not look at Lord Royce in the eyes.

"Petyr Baelish has already told me this," Nestor Royce replied. "He said that you and he were looking to marry, to bring the Vale and the North in alliance and look for allies to fight for your power as Queen in the North."

"He…he told you this?" Sansa asked, blinking in disbelief.

"He did, though I know he was speaking with Anya Waynwood about marrying you to that worthless nephew of hers. Harrold Hardyng. He would be the rightful heir to the Eyrie, in fact he is. And I could see how marrying you to him now would come with…complications." Lord Royce raised his eyebrow in a look of criticism as his gaze brushed over Sansa's bulging belly. "If Lady Waynwood would not allow Myranda to marry him, he certainly will not allow you to, even if you are a Stark girl. Petyr Baelish may be your only hope, I am afraid to say."

"Father, she cannot marry Lord Baelish. This is not even his child!" Myranda shook her head. "He will kill the babe when it makes an appearance into the world."

"Myranda Royce, hold your tongue. Do you think I do not have a mind of my own?"

"Of course not, father. But I want to see Sansa Stark on the throne of the North as badly as you do. Surely as the daughter of Eddard Stark she has his valor and honor?" Myranda shook her head. "She cannot be given over to that snake."

"Lord Baelish claimed that the child was his, Randa. He told me that it was conceived during their escape by ship from King's Landing. A mistake he was hoping to never have to revisit."

"He told you that?" Sansa shook her head. "My lord, it is simply untrue."

"And will you tell me, Sansa Stark, who the sire of your child is?" Nestor Royce crossed his arms over his broad chest, looking at her with dark eyes. Sansa trembled.

"I am afraid to, my lord." Her voice was small and weak. She wished that she could be straight forward with him as she was with Myranda, but the lord was large and intimidating, with a deeply engrained hatred for the Lannisters. "I am afraid that you will kill my baby."

"My lady that is not something I am known for, killing innocents." He looked down at her. "I grew up with your father; we were raised as boys in the same halls. We are of the same training and discipline. Would you trust your father with this information, if he were here?"

"I…I do not know."

"It does not matter at the moment, father. Just know that the man is a man of importance in the realm of Westeros. And he is not here; in truth we are not sure if he is alive any longer. But I do not want to see Sansa expire, as he may have." Myranda stepped in front of Sansa, creating a physical wall between the girl and Lord Royce. "I want to bring Sansa to Fairmarket. We have one who would be willing to sell Sansa over to King's Landing in the Gates; I want to take her far from both threats."

"You have become stricken with paranoia, my daughter." Lord Royce shook his head.

"She speaks true. Mad the Mouse is one of Lord Baelish's hedge knights, and he has been looking for Sansa Stark in order to sell her head to Queen Regent Cersei." Sansa spoke up.

"And what are you going to do when you take her to Fairmarket, foolish daughter? Place her in the river and hopes she turns into a fish to swim to freedom."

"No," Myranda shook her head. "I am more than certain that Ser Brynden Tully has gone there, to disguise himself in refuge from the Freys. He could be hiding himself as Sansa is. And he would take in his great grandniece, how could he not?"

"Because she has some man's bastard in her belly." Lord Royce laughed.

"Please, father. I just ask that you send a note with us on our travels pleading with Ser Brynden to take us in. And send Alb with us."

"He pushed her." Sansa said, looking up at Lord Royce finally.

"What did you say, child?"

"Lord Petyr pushed Lady Lysa. And he has made mention of Lord Robert dying. I thought it was because the boy was sickly, but Maester Coleman was trying to warn me about the medicines that Lord Baelish commands the young boy be given at night. I have no doubt that he knew this."

"Do you have any proof?"

"Only my word." Sansa shook her head.

"A word you are revealing to me now has been faulty in the past?" Lord Royce frowned down at her.

"Only because I had to, my lord. Lord Petyr was there, and how was I to tell you the truth? I was afraid and confused; I just want to return home to Winterfell. And I thought Lord Petyr would do that for me, would bring me home. But he has fed me lies as he has fed the rest of the realm with lies."

"Suppose I were to send you on your journey, when would you wish to leave?" Lord Royce turned to his daughter.

"As soon as possible." Myranda replied.

"I will give thought to what you have presented to me, daughter." He looked at Sansa. "And you say that Lord Petyr has talked about Lord Robert's death before."

"And I know that Lady Lysa told me that it was Lord Petyr who gave her the command to kill Lord Arryn. She poisoned him, as Lord Petyr commanded her." Sansa nodded, giving up more information to prove her earnest.

Lord Royce's face turned red as he looked at Sansa during her confession. She could see his eyes turn darker with rage and a grimace cross his square mouth. "You speak truly of this, Sansa Stark?"

"Before all the Seven," Sansa vowed, "she told me the day he pushed her out the Moon Door."

"No wonder he has been buying off the Lord Declarents one by one. If he divides us we will never come to the right conclusions. Anya Waynwood was right in not wanting to trust him with Lord Robert, and she has been proven so too late." Lord Royce put his head in his hand.

"Do you understand now why we must go, father?" Myranda's voice was tight. "We have to remove her from danger."

"I know you well, Randa. You wish to build Lady Stark an army."

"She will need something to reclaim her position in the North from the Boltons." Myranda said.

"You will tell me the father of your baby, Sansa. Assuming you know him."

"I do, my lord." Sansa replied, still trembling. "But you must not be angry with me."

"I have just found out that I have been harboring a murderer and a tyrant, as well as a liar and a thief, Sansa. Do you think I would be angered at this?"

"Yes." Sansa replied.

"Father, you may be angry. But try and see that this is a way to join houses, to make us even more powerful." Myranda spoke up.

"Assuming we are able to find him once again." Sansa replied.

"Tell me who it is, girl, my patience is being severely tried."

"My lord husband, Tyrion Lannister." Sansa gripped her hands before her round midsection.

"So you not only consummated your marriage with the Imp, but you have also allowed a Lannister to plant a child within you. I thought you had the integrity of your father."

The accusation hit like a hard slap to Sansa. "My lord, I saw no other way of preserving myself in King's Landing. Lord Tyrion was good to me, and Lord Tywin would have sent us back to Winterfell if I had the baby on his watch. I was the means to the North for the Lannisters, yes, but I have escaped them and have a rightful claim to Winterfell and Casterly Rock."

"You are a foolish four and ten year old girl, do you think that the Lannisters would have given you the land so easily?"

"They did plan on raising my son at Casterly Rock away from my watch, but I escaped. Lord Petyr came through on his word. And I still hold the claim."

"Tywin Lannister is dead."

"I know that, my lord." Sansa replied.

"And most like the Imp as well. What will be the proof that he is the father?" Lord Royce looked at her. "Suppose Lord Petyr did take advantage of your naiveté on the boat and this is your attempt to escape him? By lying to me?"

"About the Lannisters? Father, why would she even fabricate a story about the family who killed her own?" Myrand Royce asked. "What good would it do?"

"The man who pursues her also tried to kill her family, did he tell you that? How he betrayed your father when he most needed it? That he was the reason that Ned Stark was captured when he made accusations regarding Cersei Lannister's bastards? That Petyr Baelish is the reason that Ned Stark is dead? He promised helped and pulled his hand away."

"How—how do you know that?" Sansa looked at Lord Royce with round eyes.

"I have heard many things from many birds, Sansa. And what I have learned the most is to not trust a Lannister or a Baelish." Lord Royce wore a frown on his face.

"Please, father, if Tyrion Lannister is not here to raise his wolf cub then it will become a pup, will it not?"

"And how are we to prove this claim?"

"Her baby! When it is born surely it will carry marks of its parentage?" Myranda cried.

"What? Short legs and arms, an ugly face? What man in the North would follow the son of the Imp?"

"He is also the son of the North, the son of Sansa Stark!" Myranda challenged.

Sansa had stopped reacting to the situation. Instead her head was turning with thoughts. _Make the best of my situation. Do as Tyrion did and use my weaknesses to my strengths. Use other's weaknesses as my strengths. Oh, Tyrion, what should I do? What would you do?_

And she knew. She knew what she had to do.

"I will marry Lord Petyr." Sansa said as she turned to the arguing father and daughter.

The two Royces turned to look at Sansa with wide, disbelieving eyes. Lord Royce shook his head, the look in his dark eyes showed that he had little faith in the Stark girl. Myranda, on the other hand, was shaking her head in disbelief and horror as she approached the Stark girl. She grabbed her by her forearms.

"No, Sansa, you cannot do this."

"First we need to be away from the Vale. We must make to Fairmarket. Or Harrenhal, wherever Lord Baelish wants. Tell Lord Petyr that we will go down first, so as to be away from Mad the Mouse and others who may be looking for me at my aunt's. If no one knows where my great Uncle Brynden is and my Uncle Edmure is held at Casterly Rock, they will not think I would have gone in search of either. It would be a fool's errand."

"We could easily take care of Mad the Mouse. He would be of no real threat to you!" Myranda objected.

"When we silence people we do not show that they have nothing to say, we show that we are afraid of what they have to say." Sansa replied. "Tyrion had told me that once, when he was telling me the dangers of cutting people's tongues out. Something his sister never truly learned."

"And you will listen to the Imp's advice?"

"It has kept me alive so far, so yes, I will." Sansa replied. "That gives me time to give birth to my baby, if he waits for me to arrive at Harrenhal. No doubt he will want me to go to his gloomy castle."

"And what if he wants to follow you?" Lord Royce shook his head.

"He will not; I am sure you can provide some means of distraction, Lord Nestor." Sansa looked over at him. "When he arrives at Harrenhal, we will marry. Though, I cannot guarantee it will be a harmonious union for us."

"What have you up your sleeve, Sansa?"

"Lord Petyr told us that we should do seemingly unprovoked acts to confuse our enemies. It is a shame he did not take his own advice. He killed my father to have my mother. He killed Joffrey and humiliated by lord husband in the moment and killed Lysa and Robin to have me." Sansa replied. "He is very predictable. I know and have the two things he wants; the image of my mother and the crown to the North."

"And so you will risk both of these for some plan to save your baby?" Myranda asked with a frown on her plump mouth.

"And the North. I think you wanted to save both of those, my lady." Sansa replied.

"You have gotten rather cunning, Lady Sansa." Lord Royce remarked, rubbing his chin with his fingers as he watched her.

"I only want to save my baby and my people, Lord Royce. I do not want the Iron Throne, I want the Northern way of life. And if I am the only way back to that, then I have to sacrifice something." Sansa rubbed her hand over her belly. "I know what I am to do, Lord Royce. And if losing some more of my innocence is needed, then I cannot justify not doing so."

"Perhaps you should reveal more to me what it is you plan to do, Sansa?" Lord Royce looked at Sansa.

"Avenge my father and my mother and my brother and my husband and my aunt and my cousin. The game is not kind to us, but I can find a way to bring justice where justice is due." She replied. "Perhaps you could provide your son, Ser Albar, as an escort."

"Of course," Lord Royce smiled as he looked at Sansa. She knew that he could sense what she was apt to do in her marriage to Petyr. "I would want nothing more than to help the Starks find revenge and justice."

"I am hoping that this is the time where the two go hand in hand." Sansa replied. "Lady Myranda, would you be so kind as to escort me back to my room?"

"Yes, my lady. Let us go. You look exhausted." Myranda took to Sansa's side, wrapping her arm around the girl's arm.

"I trust you know what you are doing, Lady Stark." Lord Royce said as the two began to exit the room.

"I am going to disgust you as I take my title as Lady Lannister under the guise of a mockingbird," Sansa turned to him. "I have some debts which need paying."


	36. Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for all the love, my dear readers! I have gotten wonderful messages atop of all the comments you wonderful people send me regarding your enjoyment of this fict. And that is what makes my day- knowing that I was able to make you guys happy (or angsty in some cases :P) for a bit! Hope you enjoy this update- we're going to be introduced to a little blast from the past! - Lydia

"No, there are no horses for me to spare." Donnel Waynwood exclaimed.

"Be reasonable, good ser!" Albar replied. "As you can see, the woman we escort is heavily pregnant!"

Sansa watched on from a chair beside a table she had been placed in. She was glad to be off the mule, but her hips and lower back were still tight from the uncomfortable position causing every movement to hurt. She had already spent silent tears on much of the journey, especially the times they had to walk. Her feet hurt and her body wanted nothing more than to lay down. Myranda sat with her, her pudgy hand rubbing across Sansa's back in an effort to comfort the lady.

"We just need the horses to get to the crossroad's inn. There I am sure I can buy some more. But you cannot expect this lady to walk!"

"I only have a few horses here. I could spare maybe one, maybe. But good ser, there is no need to go further into the Riverlands. Ser Jaime Lannister's troops are crawling everywhere, and we do not need to start a conflict with the Lannisters."

"Jaime Lannister is down there?" Sansa asked, leaning forward to look at the man.

"Aye, the Kingslayer is leading his troops with the aid of House Frey." Donnel spat on the ground when he said the name. "Lady Lysa was an Arryn, but she was also a Tully. And they slaughtered that woman's sister at a wedding. Only terrible people do that, may the gods curse them!"

"That was my mother!" Sansa cried.

"Shhh," Myranda pulled her close. Ser Donnel turned to look at Sansa with surprise.

"No, I need his help. And if he will not give it willingly—" Sansa shifted in her seat to face the knight. "I am Lady Sansa Stark of House Winterfell. I am in need of a horse to bring me no further than where Ser Albar deems necessary. I need one for Lady Myranda as well. Her brother and she could ride together."

The knight paused and looked over Sansa squinting his eyes. When he was satisfied that she was telling the truth he smiled. "Lady Sansa," Ser Donnel stood with wide eyes, gasping for a moment. He then kneeled before her, pressing his hand to his chest. "Our future Queen of the North! A Stark of Winterfell."

"I will never return to Winterfell if I cannot leave this encampment. I wish to restore the North and the Vale and the Riverlands, but in order to do so I must have my crown. Ser, I need to leave the Vale."

"I understand, my lady." Ser Donnel rose to his feet. He turned to Albar. "Give me a couple days, ser. We could easily send for horses to come our way—"

"We do not have the time," Albar shook his dark head. "Lady Sansa has slowed because of the baby and we can only travel a couple hours at a time before she is exhausted. We will not make it to Harrenhal in time for the child to be born if we continue to wait."

"Ser, I am doing my best with the time I have been given, and the little notice! Surely you can understand this!" Donnel protested.

Albar pinched his nose with his fingers as he drew in his anger. Sansa was as frustrated as he, but there was no way to make the situation change any faster. She sighed, placing a hand on her belly. _Please just stay in there, my son. There is no need for you to enter the world quite yet. Let us make it to Harrenhal, let me tell you when it is time!_

A commotion interrupted her thoughts, as well as Ser Albar and Ser Donnel's conversation as Sandor Frey burst through the doors of the room, panting. Sansa looked to Myranda with wide eyes, uncomfortable with the member of the Frey family near her. She had come to learn quickly that the boy was a squire for Donnel, and she tried to remember the squire who had served her husband was from a family she feared.

"Ser Donnel!" Sandor cried as he entered the room.

"What is it, boy?" Donnel was clearly annoyed for having been interrupted.

"There are visitors, ser, visitors who wish to go up to the Vale."

"And why are you not permitting them?" He asked. "Do they look dangerous? Do they come with an army?"

"No ser, but they did say they wished to speak with you directly." He panted as he tried to catch his breath while relaying the message.

"Tell them I shall be out in a moment," Donnel commanded. When the squire had sprinted off Donnel turned to Albar. "I am sorry for the interruption, and do not think this conversation is yet over. My family was behind this girl's brother, may the gods rest his soul, when he was trying to reclaim the North. We will stand by her and whatever House she has been married to."

"That is a hasty promise," Myranda muttered.

"They would never assume I was married to Lord Tyrion himself," Sansa whispered.

"I will return to you after greeting these passers."

"I wish to come with you; if these people wish to see you in person, they must be of some importance." Albar said. "And I am glad to be using my own two feet again instead of straddling a mule's back."

"Oh, Alba, do not leave us here!" Myranda insisted.

"Then come, Randa. But keep your mouth shut!" He warned. Myranda stood, and then turned to Sansa.

"Do you wish to come along?" She asked.

"I do not wish to be left here by myself that is for certain!" Sansa exclaimed. She held her hand out for Myranda to take in an aid to help her to her feet. Once the pregnant woman had found her balance, she followed the group out to the main yard.

At the gate's entrance stood an impossibly tall knight and a shorter man beside him. As Sansa waddled closer, she realized the knight was not a man, but a woman. She had removed her helm and held it tucked in at her side. She had short blonde hair, chopped jagged very close to her head. Her features were as large as her height, including her blue eyes. She was a manly sort of woman, but Sansa could not help but think her handsome.

"Ser Donnel of the House of Waynwood, I am Brienne of Tarth," the woman exclaimed. Sansa noticed that she had markings along her neck as she examined the knight-lady from afar. Sansa next took to looking at her companion. "I am on a search for the Lady Sansa of House Stark. My companion wishes to go further up into the Vale in search of her while I go my separate way off to the West and towards the Pink Maiden and deeper Riverlands."

"Aye, looking for Sansa Stark? And so is the rest of the fucking kingdom. She is not here!" Donnel exclaimed.

Sansa continued to walk closer to the gates, even though Myranda had stopped short when Brienne had exclaimed what her mission was. There was something familiar about the boy which traveled with the lady knight. His dark hair and his dark eyes, and his large ears….she smiled as she strode forward with confidence.

"I understand you may not have seen her, but I wish to talk to Lady Lysa all the same. I look for the girl as an ally, not a traitor. So if you see or hear from her—"

"I already told you!" Ser Donnel cried out.

Sansa made her way closer to the gates, and that was when Brienne's companion finally noticed her. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of her, but he was unable to say anything as Sansa beat him to the quick.

"Podrick!" She cried, running forward and throwing her arms around the squire.

* * *

"So how is it again that you know this young man?" Myranda asked Sansa that evening as Brienne and Podrick were ushered into the castle at the Bloody Gate and served fresh bread and wine.

"He was Lord Tyrion's squire. A sweet boy; he loved my husband well and did all he could to serve him. He even saved Lord Tyrion's life at the Battle of Blackwater Bay." Sansa replied hastily.

"I see…" Myranda looked over at the boy who sat clearly awkward among the knights and ladies. Sansa could see that the trip with Lady Brienne had hardened the boy up, but had not taken away his reserved nature.

"Lady Sansa, if you do not mind, Podrick and I would like to speak with you more personally," Brienne interrupted the conversations being made across the dinner table.

"Do you think that wise, Lady Brienne?" Albar spoke up. "I am more interested in what you have to say to the young Stark girl than she probably is."

"I am sure I can speak for myself, Lord Albar," Sansa replied. "And I am sure that I do not mind meeting with Lady Brienne and young Podrick on my own. I survived King's Landing with no friends, I am sure that I can survive a lady and a squire with cautious people walls away."

"As my lady wishes," Donnel replied reluctantly. "Come, Randa. Let us leave them here. There is no sense in making Queen Sansa stand and walk in her condition."

Sansa winced at the name; not long after Brienne and Podrick arrived, Ser Donnel had taken to calling Sansa Queen instead of Lady. He had said it was because the hope of a reestablished North quickened his blood and she was the cause. Sansa did not like the nickname regardless. She had quite enough of Queens and Kings.

"I do not think this is a wise idea, brother," Myranda spoke, looking pointedly at Sansa. "I think she needs wise company, with a baby on the brain."

"But I also need to hear things which you may not need to concern yourself with, Randa." Sansa tried to reason with the girl. "I will come in soon and pay your bed tax, a promise I assure you. Take Mya with you for now. You will not see the girl for many months most like."

"If you want for anything, Sansa, you will call for me?" Myranda asked.

"I give my word," Sansa replied with the nod of her head.

When Donnel, Albar, Myranda, and the few trusted knights of the Gates had left the room in search of the sleeping quarters, Sansa turned to her guests. "I am sorry for their insistence."

"They only mean to keep your ladyship safe," Brienne replied. "I can completely understand their motives and pass no judgment."

"And do you, Pod?" Sansa asked. Podrick looked up at her with wide brown eyes, his mouth closed as he stared at her without emotion. "I will not bite you, Pod, I promise."

"Yes…yes m'lady, I do understand." The boy looked down at his toes.

"I need you to understand that I mean you neither harm nor embarrassment. I wish to keep you at my side as my husband kept you at his. I wish for you to vow your loyalty to me, Podrick." Sansa looked at him. "I need you."

"And what of myself?" Brienne looked to Sansa.

"I need all of the help I can receive," Sanas replied. "But I do not know you, my lady. Not truly, but I do wish to come to know you and find trust in your word. Understand I am made nervous by the presence of someone searching for me of whom I do not know."

"I can tell you that Lady Brienne is true, m'lady," Podrick bowed his head further into his chest, still refusing to make eye contact with Sansa.

"I am sure she will prove herself in time," Sansa looked over the knight with gentle blue eyes.

"Your eyes are like your mother's," Brienne commented.

"What did you say?" Sansa asked.

"I promised your mother, Catelyn Stark, that I would bring back Sansa and Arya Stark to her,"

"My mother is dead." Sansa stated.

"This was before your mother and brother were senselessly slaughtered at the disgrace of the Freys," Brienne replied. "And she had as much ferocity regarding her two daughters as you have concerning your baby, even though it is yet to be born."

Sansa could not move as she sat at the table, stone faced but breaking underneath her steel skin. She looked to Podrick who was looking at her now, his cheeks burning red when they made eye contact.

"Jaime Lannister sent me with young Podrick to find you, to bring you some place safe." Brienne continued when the silence did not break. "He cares for you as an extension of his brother."

Sansa bit her lip; she did not want to make decisions any longer. Should she just go with Brienne to find her brother in law? Should she seek the help of Jaime Lannister instead of Brynden Tully? _Which is more like to help me?_

"Where is Ser Jaime now?" Sansa asked as she looked the lady knight in the eye.

"I am not sure, my lady. It was told that he has taken Harrenhal."

 _So that refuge is no longer safe._ Sansa sighed. She would need to make another meeting point for her and Lord Baelish. But perhaps she could strike two mockingbirds with one stone. "He is at Harrenhal, then?"

"Or he could be at Riverrun? I have not spoken to him for weeks, and I—I am supposed to meet him for his end."

"What do you mean?" Sansa asked.

"Your mother is not entirely gone," Podrick spoke up, running his hands around the curve of his neck where a rope burn was beginning to fade.

"Your mother has returned in a very…mindless form, my lady. A mere shell of who she was. She goes by the name of Lady Stoneheart now. And she did not believe that I was in search of you, she accused me of being in the service entirely of the Lannisters. That I was meant to do you harm." Brienne explained.

Sansa could feel her blood run cold. Why was everything changing so quickly? Her mother was an undead woman? Ser Jaime Lannister was only a week or two's ride away from where she sat now? Brynden Tully would not be far from here….

"Would you escort me and my companions to the Inn at the Crossroads?" Sansa looked up at Brienne.

"That is where Lady Stoneheart is," Podrick blanched as he looked at Sansa.

"And what has happened with my mother?" Sansa could not help but assign this shadow a personal title.

"She attempted to hang Podrick and myself," Brienne sighed, "when she accused us of working in your harm. But we managed to escape."

"Will you work in my benefit now?" Sansa asked.

"I have already sworn my sword to two sides, my lady. To Lady Catelyn to kill Jaime Lannister; and to Jaime Lannister to find you."

"It seems as if you have fulfilled one of these already." Sansa replied. "And do not worry, Podrick will find a safe place for me. I assume the both of us are in danger."

"What is it you want me to do, my lady?" Brienne's eyebrows crossed.

"You cannot possibly kill Jaime Lannister if you do not cross paths with him," Sansa replied. "I know you escorted Podrick this far to find me so that you could avoid it."

"I do not wish to kill someone who I owe a debt to." Brienne replied.

"Debts are tricky things," Sansa agreed. "I need your sword, Brienne, and your wisdom. I need someone to go to Fairmarket for me as I await Lord Baelish at the Pink Maiden."

"And what is it you plan to do at Fairmarket?" Brienne asked.

"I am in search for my great Uncle Brynden Tully."

"The Blackfish? But I thought he was killed!"

"Fish can swim, Brienne, and this one was able to escape the net." Sansa crossed her hands over her heavy belly. Her baby was turning once again, stretching and pushing inside her.

"And if he is not in Fairmarket?"

"I would like to make contact with the Manderlys of White Harbour. They were loyal and faithful to generations of Starks; perhaps they wish to see the North cleansed of the Boltons."

"It would be a risk," Brienne's face contorted making it apparent what could happen if this plan did not work would be detrimental.

"I do not wish to take risks, my good lady, but I am afraid that these are the only options I have. If I am not able to live then my child will not. And I do not wish to live in the recesses of the Eyrie for the rest of my days with my son who has been wrongfully named the bastard of Lord Petyr Baelish."

"And what are you planning to do with Lord Petyr?" Brienne asked.

"I am going to have to deal with him in my own way," Sansa replied. "I must use my weakness to my advantage, turn it into my strength." Sansa watched Podrick's face light up with a smile as he heard the common expression and encouragement his lord had said again and again.

"And which house will this baby unite you with, my lady?" Brienne asked. Sansa did not feel comfortable tipping her hand, but if Brienne was true, and Podrick seemed to indicate that she was then she would have to trust her, especially if she were delivering a message up North.

"House Lannister of Casterly Rock," Sansa said. "The baby's father is my lord husband Tyrion Lannister."

"The Imp has not been heard from in months. Many think he is dead." Brienne shook her head. "No one is to believe this wild story. Sansa Stark carrying a Lannister babe? This would make for a good song, but not a history."

"Ser Jaime would not have let his brother come to harm, and he had to have been the one to free m'lord." Podrick interrupted. "And it was m'lord who…who…who…bedded m'lady," Podrick's face turned the deepest shade of red she had ever seen a person capable of. "I…I heard something one night. My ears might have deceived me, but Ser Bronn wanted me to stand guard for him one night so he could go to Littlefinger's brothel and I stood outside the door as he requested and I heard her ladyship and m'lord abed—"

"We need not hear any more details," Sansa replied, feeling her own cheeks turn quite red.

"I am sorry, m'lady, I just wanted to verify that what you said was true." Podrick said.

"You hope to align the Lannisters to your side?" Brienne laughed.

"No, I do not think they would take a Stark girl in." Sansa replied. "And I am not sure I would want them on the throne. I suppose at some point I must make an alliance with a man who is fighting for the throne."

"And you are thinking Lord Stannis?" Brienne asked.

"He would most like give me the North back. I do not care for the Iron Throne, as I have told many. I wish to have the North back, I wish to return to Winterfell and rebuild where my family has been."

"You must decide at some point, Lady Sansa. What will I tell the Lord Manderly if he asks which man you bid for the throne?"

"Tell Lord Manderly I intend to rebuild the Northern cause to keep us from the South."

"But what of your son's claim to Casterly Rock?" Brienne asked. "You would most certainly have to have affairs in the South."

"I do not know!" Sansa's emotions took over and tears burst forth. "I have not thought that far ahead. I have several people who wish to have my head who know where I am, my aunt has just been murdered before my eyes, and my uncle in law wishes to bed me for my body and my inheritance. Is there someone in this world who will give me a kindness because they wish to? With no debts needing to be paid or ulterior motives?"

Brienne sat in shocked silence as she watched Sansa bend over the table, placing her cheek on the worn service, her arms wrapping about her head as her shoulders trembled with sobs. Sansa could hear the chair across from her scrape across the floor, and boots thumped close to her.

"I will, m'lady," Podrick's voice was near her side. She picked her head up and looked at him. "But I cannot promise that it is entirely debt free. I owe m'lord this much."

"Pod, when you help Lord Tyrion, you help me, you silly foolish boy," Sansa let out a laugh in her sobs. Podrick reached up hesitantly, then wiped away a few stray tears from her cheeks.

"I promise that I will keep you safe, that I will find some way to get you back to m'lord. That I will take care of your baby." Podrick was letting sentences fall from his mouth.

For the second time that day Sansa wrapped her arms around the Payne boy. "Oh Pod, thank you."

"I think it is time we turned in for the evening. There is time for planning while we are on the road, and at the Inn at the Crossroads. We may meet your shadow mother there, Sansa. And then you will have more decisions to make."

"The first thing I will do is make sure that she releases you from your oath. There need be no more bloodshed than necessary. And Jaime Lannister was kind to me in sending you and Pod." Sansa replied.

"I thank you, my lady. Come, Podrick," Brienne stood, motioning him with her hand.

"If you do not mind, m'lady Brienne," Podrick turned his head to look at her. "I have made an oath to Lord Tyrion to care for him. And I feel as if that means I should care for his lady wife."

"And how do you suggest you are going to do this?" Brienne rolled her eyes.

"I will stay outside the lady's door, just to be sure that she is safe." Pod stood.

"You do not need to worry so much, Pod, I will be fine." Sansa assured him, grabbing hold of his hand.

"I will feel much better if I do." Podrick replied.

"If you feel you must." Brienne sighed. "We should leave as soon as we can in the morning."

"You should tell Ser Albar, he is the one leading us down the mountain after this." Sansa said. "Oh, and Lady Brienne, please wake Mya Stone and inform her I need this message brought to Lord Baelish: Harrenhal is filled with lions, I will send word when there is a safe haven."

"Yes, my lady," Brienne dipped forward in a bow. "Well dreams I wish you."

"And to you as well." Sansa said as she bid the lady knight good bye.

Brienne walked out the door, shutting it gently behind her. Sansa looked up at Podrick who was shaking and had wide eyes.

"I suppose it is you and I right now, Pod." Sansa tried to lighten the mood with a smile. "Will you help me to my feet? It is hard to stand in such a state."

"Yes, m'lady," He turned duteously to her and offered his hands. She grabbed them and pulled herself to her feet.

"You are a noble squire, Podrick Payne. I am glad my husband had you by his side." Sansa said to him.

"May I…may I give my lady something?" Podrick still stumbled over his words when he spoke to her. _How did he manage my rough and quick witted husband?_ Sansa mused.

"Certainly, Pod. Should I close my eyes?" She smiled to show that she jested.

"No," Podrick reached behind him, pulling a dagger out from the back of his belt.

"What are you doing, Pod?" Sansa's heart raced as she saw the sheathed weapon come out before her.

"LordTyrion gave me this, as a gift for doing tasks that always required of me, he said it would be more useful to me instead of gold dragons" Podrick replied, offering it forward draped over both hands. "You said something about being close to Lord Baelish. I have been to his whore house several times with Lord Tyrion to gather ledgers, and me likes the man not."

Sansa gingerly took the weapon from his palms. "This was your gift, Pod."

"And it is my gift to you, in case something should happen to me. Or I am not there in time." Podrick replied. Sansa approached the boy who winced when she reached out to him.

"Oh, Pod, I will not hurt you with my touch," she smiled. "How are you to wed a beautiful girl if you cannot even stand the touch of a fat pregnant one?" Sansa laughed.

"You are not unbeautiful this way," Podrick muttered. She felt touched by his comment.

"And you are a kind ser," Sansa bent forward to place a quick kiss on his cheek. "Thank you, Podrick."

"Do you wish to be brought to your sleeping chambers?" Podrick spit out as soon as he realized she had kissed him gently.

"I do, my good ser." Sansa smiled, bestowing the title of knight though the boy had not been sworn to such a life. _I will swear him in, when I become Queen. He is a good lad, he means the best for the people he loves. He does not see Houses or Sigils, he sees people._ Sansa wrapped her arm around Podrick's arm.

"I mean this not as a wanton gesture," she assured him when he widened his eyes, "I do not have the balance I did before and it can be hard to walk at times,"

"Then I shall be glad to assist m'lady." He agreed, walking forward with her waddling at his side. She placed her sleepy head on his shoulder as he led her out the door and into the dark night.


	37. Agony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the love and support! I am as excited to get these chapters out to you guys as you are to read them! Happy Friday to all, and I hope it goes well! Love you all! -Lydia

The trip down to the Inn at the Crossroads took near as long as the travel from the Gates of the Moon to the Bloody Gate. Brienne and Podrick had arrived at the Bloody Gate with two horses of their own, and Aldar had convinced Donnel to lend them two more horses, so that he and his sister could ride together and Sansa could have her own horse. The plan did not work, however, as Podrick insisted on leading Lady Sansa. She could not stand to be in the saddle for more than a few hours at a time and found she needed to rest often. Oft times Podrick insisted the other riders go ahead and make camp when they could, by the time they were done with preparing dinner he would arrive with Lady Sansa. And he always kept to his promise.

Sansa could feel her body grow more and more weary, she wanted nothing more than to sleep and recline. Sitting up on the horse was becoming more difficult, and her lower back was often screaming in pain after a few hours. She would then have Podrick help her down; the walking was just as exhausting. She had felt the baby much lower in her body making it much easier for her to breath, but much harder to maneuver. Often times she had to lean against Podrick as they descended the mountain in order to keep her balance. The stops were frequent and the time traveling was less and less. Brienne showed great concern at the beginning of the trip on reaching the inn sooner rather than later, but Myranda comforted the lady knight, assuring her they had several weeks before Sansa was due, and they would only stop for a night at the inn. Sansa had a fear in her heart that perhaps she would not make it to the Pink Maiden. What if she had calculated wrongly?

She was more than relieved when she woke up one morning to Brienne informing Albar and Myranda that they were only a day's trip from the inn. Podrick was sitting by Sansa's side eating from his hands the food he and Brienne had kept for their journey. When he noticed Sansa was awake he offered her some.

"I am not hungry," Sansa replied as she struggled to sit up.

"Sansa, you have to eat. You have been walking more than riding and it has clearly taken a toll. We are only a few miles or so outside of the inn. Even with Podrick walking we should reach there by this evening—if you stay on that horse!" Myranda scolded her.

"I will do my best, but it is very hard." Sansa admitted as she reluctantly took the bread from Podrick.

"We should be going, now that you are up, my lady." Brienne dosed the fire before them. "You can eat the bread Podrick has while atop the horse."

"She is right, we need to reach the Inn if we have any hopes left of making it to the Pink Maiden before Lord Petyr goes after us wondering what goose chase we are sending him on." Ser Albar replied.

"I understand," Sansa nodded her head. "I will do my best to stay atop the horse today." She struggled to her feet, only successfully standing when Podrick helped her to her feet. Her body was cramping and aching. _From the travel no doubt_. She had spent much of the day before walking.

"I have readied the horses. We are fit for travel." Albar informed the small group.

"Are you ready, m'lady?" Podrick turned to Sansa.

"I have to be, there is really no choice in the matter." Sansa replied. She waddled over to the gentle grey mare she had been riding for the journey. The horse's gait was steady and smooth and made travel slightly more bearable on Sansa's body.

Podrick came to the side of the horse and knelt at her side cupping his hands. Sansa gripped the mare's mane and the back of the saddle. Podrick raised her as high as he could so she did not have to struggle to sit atop the horse. Podrick and she had made some adjustments to make it easier for her to sit side saddle, stretching her legs across the horse's back was too hard on her joints.

As Sansa climbed into the saddle she let out a cry. A terrible cramp rocked her abdomen as she had settled onto the beast's back. "M'lady, did I hurt you?" Podrick asked in a panic.

"No, it's just the baby. He is ready to get out of here," she smiled. "I might have just moved in a poor direction when I sat down and he bumped my body with his head." Sansa tried to offer a smile to Podrick. Internally Sansa was sent into a panic. _It will be fine, you have been cramping the past couple days with nothing coming from it._ She tried to reason the frenzy out of herself.

* * *

As the day wore on, however, the feeling of cramps did not subside. She forced herself to stay on the saddle, but asked Podrick to slow down. Every jolt of the horse's body made her cringe with the need to get off and walk. When the group had stopped for lunch Sansa knew she could not take riding any longer.

"We are only a few miles outside of the inn. If we were to travel at a normal speed than we could reach there in an hour or two's time." Brienne said.

"Then go," Sansa said. "Podrick and I will make it there; we just have to travel a little slower. We will arrive by supper time, as always."

"I do not know if I want to leave you here, Sansa, alone. So near a place we do not know."

Sansa understood the girl's concern. The last of Sansa's dye had run out a week before she'd left the Gates and her hair was already lightening. The roots of her hair surely showed her mother's house's infamous color.

"Podrick saved my husband at Blackwater Bay. I will trust the boy. We would be in more danger all together." She tried to reason with them. Her cramps had worsened as they stopped for lunch.

"She is not going to listen to us," Albar laughed. "Stubborn as Randa. If we go ahead we will have a room for her to stay and we could more readily hide her."

"People will not suspect that Sansa is pregnant." Sansa replied. "I made sure to hide Lord Tyrion and my consummation."

"She did," Podrick nodded his head.

"Very well," Brienne sighed. "We will go ahead and scout the way. If there is any trouble Ser Albar or I will make with quick speed back to you two."

"I am sure we will be fine." Sansa reasoned. The three eyed her warily before mounting their horses. They were quick to the saddle and quicker to the road, no doubt in hopes of a hot meal. Lunch and breakfast had just been slices of bread.

"Does m'lady need help into the saddle?" Podrick stood at the side of his grey mare.

"I cannot ride anymore, Pod. I forced myself all morning, but my belly hurts too badly." She admitted.

"Are you feeling well?" Podrick asked, looking at her in concern.

"I am well, but not with anything which does not ache, that is the payment for a large belly." Sansa smiled.

"I will walk with m'lady then," Podrick promised her, giving her his arm. She leaned on it heavily as the two began to walk slowly down the road. At this moment Sansa was more than happy that she had found her husband's loyal squire.

The miles dragged on as Sansa's cramps worsened, causing her head to spin. The two had been on the road for most of the afternoon; Podrick was her ever-present encouragement, telling her it was only so much farther.

"Podrick, tell me about how you saved Lord Tyrion at the Blackwater." Sansa said.

"It was truly nothing," Sansa could not see his face at this angle, but she guessed he was blushing. "One of the Queen's men was falling upon him with a sword and I reacted, I pushed a spear through his head."

"You saved his life, Pod, and you say that this is nothing?" Sansa rubbed his arm gently. "That took a lot of bravery. Perhaps when Lord Tyrion and I have a son in the future we will name him Podrick."

"You believe that you will find Lord Tyrion again?" Podrick asked.

"I do," Sansa replied. "That's the hope I hold onto. I am only so clever, Pod. I would be able to make much better decisions with a strategist as himself."

"He was very good at planning."  
"If only he had joined Robb's cause," Sansa's heart sank. "But I supposed as a Lannister he wishes to see his nephew or niece on the throne."

"He did not wish to see you on the throne, perhaps he does not want to see them there either."

"It does come with many dangers, does it not?" Sansa sighed. "I wish Winterfell was standing with open doors waiting for me to come home. Instead of overrun with Boltons and Freys." Sansa spat.

"If the gods wish you to return to your home, they will make it possible, will they not?" Podrick offered.

"Are you being my husband now? Adhering to my pious side in order to cheer me up?" Sansa smiled.

"I did not mean that, m'lady."

"Please call me Lady Sansa. I intend to have you knighted for your loyalty and hard work when I take back the North, Pod. So you should become acquainted with my first name." She said.

"But would you not be Queen Sansa?" Podrick inquired.

"I suppose I would be." Sansa chewed her lip as a strong wave of cramps hit her midsection. "After living in King's Landing I am done with thrones and castles and knights and ladies. Songs are beautiful things, but they are not reality. In reality I just want to—oh!" Sansa cried out as a strong cramp hit her stomach, taking her breath away.

"M'lady?" Podrick cried out in worry, dropping the horse's reins to put his arm on her back.

"I am fine; sometimes I just get these cramps in my tummy. Nothing happens, just a little pain." Sansa was trying to smile, but another cramp hit you. To her horror, when it had ceased she could feel water running down her legs. _What is going on? Have I soiled myself?_ But she did not smell of urine and she was soaked down the legs.

"M'lady?" Podrick looked at her. Her grey travel dress had soaked up some of the water that had drenched her undergarments.

"Podrick," Sansa looked at him with wide eyes. "I do not think I am going to make it to the Pink Maiden."

"I do not think so either, m'lady." Podrick looked at her.

"Let's just keep walking and maybe—" Another contraction sidelined Sansa.

"We are almost there, Lady Sansa. I see the building just off in the distance…"

But Sansa was crippled with pain, anxiety, and fear. She stood still in place, only able to look at Podrick with wide blue eyes. Her body was beginning to hurt fiercely.

"Oh, Pod," Sansa's eyes instinctively filled with tears.

Podrick did not ask her permission in the next minute; he did not think of social constraints or the proper treatment of squires to ladies. He quickly tied the reins of the horse into his belt and then lifted Sansa into his arms. She held tightly to his neck as he jogged toward the inn. "We are going to make it, m'lady. I promise you this."

Sansa felt another contraction hitting her body and she tensed. She let out a moan indicating pain as Podrick strode forward. She could see the building in the distance, too, but it seemed impossibly far away and she was certain they would never make it in time.

Podrick proved her wrong and kept to her promise. He reached the inn and let Sansa to her feet, pulling the reigns from his belt. He then quickly tied the horse outside by the door before placing his shoulder under her armpit to provide leverage for her walking.

"Lady Brienne!" He cried in a panic, throwing open the door. His fear only intensified Sansa's.

Lady Brienne, Ser Albar, and Lady Myranda had taken to drinks at one of the tables, and startled when Sansa and Podrick entered. The three sat stone still for a moment before Lady Brienne jumped into action.

"Lady Myranda, please help the lady up to her room." She commanded the Royce girl. Myranda was to her feet in seconds, coming to take Sansa away from Podrick. "Ser Albar, we must find someone who can help us, someone with knowledge about childbirthing."

"Come, my lady, we will get you upstairs to the bed." Myranda tried to soothe Sansa.

"It hurts!" Sansa finally cried out as the older woman led her up the stairs.

"I am sure it does, but calm down, Sansa. You must not do anything hasty in your fear."

"I am soiled," Sansa looked down at her skirt. "I have made a mess of everything"

"Shush, Sansa," Myranda whispered as she led her down the short hall to a room. She ushered Sansa inside and to the bed. "Now let's get you out of those dirty clothes, you can borrow my shift until Podrick can bring yours from downstairs." Myranda went to her travel bag and pulled a clean shift from the depth. She turned to Sansa to help her pull her wet clothes from her body.

Once Sansa was dressed Myranda placed the girl onto the bed. "Try to rest, Sansa. Do not strain too hard,"

Sansa's body was cramping and her pelvis was hurting terribly. Sansa wanted her mother in that moment more than she had ever wanted her. But her mother was not here, her mother was dead because her throat was slit and now she was back as shadow somewhere in the area. Sansa's only reaction was to cry.

"Sansa," Myranda spoke her name in a soft voice, stroking her hair gently.

"I do not think you understand," Sansa could hear Brienne's voice outside the door. "She needs special care."

"That is what all sisters say when they see their family in pain. Now pardon me," Sansa could hear the voice of a woman she had never met before outside the door. The oak door opened to reveal a pudgy, short lady with her greying brown hair in a twist and dark black eyes. "You should be glad that you happened upon a midwife in the area."

"Oh, thank the gods," Sansa could hear Myranda whisper.

"What is she laying on the bed for? Get me a bench from downstairs, m'lady." The woman demanded of Brienne. "A small one, nothing large. We need to get her up, help that baby come down."

"Who are you?" Myranda asked.

"Lynna Rivers. I don't see how that matters since I have come just to get this baby out of you; do you have any more questions for me?"

"No," Myranda shook her head.

"Good, now get the girl up and walking about." Lynna demanded. Myranda looked at her warily, but pulled Sansa from the mattress and did her best to get her walking. Sansa was sobbing from the pain and from fright as she leaned against Myranda.

"Stop the tears, child, it is not going to numb the pain," Lynna said. "Where is that hulking sister of yours?"

Brienne returned with Podrick in tow carrying a bench. Podrick took one look at Sansa and blanched at her red face, turning quickly from the room.

"Men," Lynna muttered. "Claim they are the fiercest when they show off their shiny weapons in battle. But the thought of a woman in labor and they are gone."

"What else can I bring for you?" Brienne asked Lynna.

"Nothing but hot water." Lynna replied. Sansa let out a cry as her body contracted harder and she could feel pain in her woman's parts.

"Come, my girl," Lynna instructed her to the bench. Sansa sat on it, Myranda stood behind her as a support. Lynna performed whatever examination was required of Sansa, Sansa was soon losing comprehension of the situation as waves of pain swept over her body and her heart pounded. "You are closer than I expected, you must have been in labor for quite some time beforehand."

"Does that mean she is almost to the end?" Myranda's voice was tight with worry and concern for Sansa.

"It depends," The midwife took both of Sansa's feet and placed them on her legs as she sat before the girl. "This dimwit needs to start pushing if she wants anything to come to an end."

"I do not think you should speak to her that way—" Brienne said as she looked at Sansa.

"Have you helped women give birth before, my lady?"

"I have…I have not." Brienne confessed.

"I have delivered hundreds of babies; I know exactly what mothers need." She pushed Sansa's legs upwards, causing Sansa to bear down. "A little encouragement."

Sansa was far from needing encouragement. All she could think about was how Tyrion's mother had died in childbirth. _Will that be me? Will I pass away from this child and not from the enemy? I feel like he is ripping me in two. Oh, Mother, help me!_

Sansa let out another cry as her body pushed her baby one step closer to life in the world.


	38. Propositions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I hope you guys won't kill me for the slight...interruption. At least I was able to provide some hope?! Thanks for the many kind comments and reviews and favorites and follows...my readers are the best! Happy Tuesday! - Lydia

"So you captured the Imp when he was visiting a brothel in Selhoyrs and have brought him here to give to Dany? And what is she to do with the Lannister?" Barristan Selmy looked at Jorah Mormont with annoyance.

"He has brought the Seconds Sons back to Dany's side, they are helping us win this battle!" Jorah's stern face was filled with determination as he landed a fist down on the table of the war tent.

Tyrion had almost bothered to tell the two men that he could hear them, but he figured it would do little good; Jorah was pressed to achieve his end. "To be fair, Jorah was not able to bring me _exactly_ here, we had a little...obstacle along the way." _If obstacle means living in slavery under a complete imbecile and being forced to fight with Penny, then that would be what it was_.

Tyrion looked around the war tent of Barristan Selmy, the dismissed guard of dead King Robert's court. Joffrey was a fool to let the loyal knight go, but it was far too late to worry about ifs and buts at a time like a war between the Yunkai and Dany's Unsullied. They were quite the impressive army to watch, seemingly tireless against the invading defense, not that Tyrion cared to be on the battlefield once again.

Selmy looked over to Tyrion, then promptly ignored the man's existence. "And what am I supposed to do with the female dwarf? Throw her into the savagery of war?"

"Penny," Tyrion interrupted once again. "Her name is Penny." Tyrion had the luck to run into one of the dwarves that had been cruelly forced to perform at Joffrey's ill-fated wedding. The young girl had lost her brother when he was mistaken for Tyrion, and the scarred halfman felt he owed her something.

"Dany will not listen to whatever you have done for her with the Second Sons; she will have her dragons eat you the moment she lays eyes on you!"

"And where is Dany?" Jorah demanded as he looked about. "Should she not be in this tent, leading her men to victory?"

"Do you wish the Queen so close to the battle lines? Do you want to see her killed?" Selmy asked as he shook his grey haired head. "She will not want you anymore than she will want the halfman Lannister."

"But he is a great strategist, he has won the Second Sons to her side—"

"Our Queen is not yet wise enough to see in greys, she sees merely in black and white." Selmy turned to Jorah, putting a hand on the man's shoulder. "She will see him as nothing more than a traitor. You are a good swordsman, and a great man, Jorah Mormont, but you have betrayed her trust."

"I love her, Selmy, is that not enough?" Jorah shook his head.

"For a young and scared and foolish young girl it is not, she is still maturing into a queen."

"And she is not here," Tyrion replied.

"And what makes you so sure she is not on her way to put your head on a stick? She trades justice for injustice and your family has committed many injustices."

"If she is a young and foolish girl she would have defied your orders for her to stay off the battlegrounds and would be here," Tyrion looked about the tent. "She freed all those slaves, she has led the Unsullied, she has rode with the Dothraki—the battleground would not cause her to blink an eye."

"Is Dany not here?" Jorah looked over at Barristan, his eyes wide.

"She…she was taken off on the back of Drogon, to the Dothraki seas…" Selmy was interrupted when Jorah grabbed hold of the man's jerkin, pulling him close.

"You are spreading me lies, that she would not want me here that she would not want to see me in the fight and yet she is not here?" Jorah was frothing with anger. Tyrion looked between the two men, pausing for a moment to assess the situation.

"I do not think Selmy has told you wrong, if you did betray the young girl to my father and the council, which I know you did. I do not think the young queen was raised to forgive such treachery."

"He is right, Jorah, and you know he is." Selmy pushed the man away. "Dany will not want to see you and she will have her men hang you for returning…unless you can truly prove yourself."

"Of course I can!" Jorah replied. "I will do anything for her majesty!"

"Then go and do to her enemies what you did for her." Selmy replied calmly. Jorah looked at the man with a confused look. "You spied on her, now go back to Westeros and find where her enemies, the other successors to the throne, are weak. And report back to me."

"And what is to happen to me?" Tyrion asked with mock offense at the dismissal of his predicament.

"Ser Jorah will bring you with him; you are a Lannister and I have heard from ravens that your head is wanted by your own sister. Perhaps you will make for a better trading piece than a strategist. If you cooperate, however, perhaps you can become the strategist of Westeros for Daenerys Targaryen."

"I suppose I do not have much choice in the matter," Tyrion replied. "But do you not think that I will stick out like a sore thumb?"

"Then stay in Pentos for all I care and listen for word from Jorah. He can report to you, and you can report back to me. Dany's Unsullied are strong, and when she returns we will take back Slaver's Bay from the Yunkai." Selmy looked down at the worn map before him. "And she will have to start moving westward to claim her true inheritance. She cannot fight for the Iron Throne if she is not in the right country."

"And who am I supposed to keep my eye out for?" Jorah asked with indignation.

"The Lannisters, the Baratheons, the Greyjoys…any who threaten the chance of Dany getting her crown." Selmy replied.

"And if I do this for Dany, she will take me back?"

"Or think you a worse traitor, but I will have better chances of talking you back into her graces." Selmy replied. "You will be in Westeros then and you can hide from her if she is not like to change her mind."

"Are there any other families I should be worried about? The Tyrells whose daughter still remains in line to marry the future Baratheon."

"Any family which threatens the crown," Selmy replied. "Except for one."

"And that would be?" Jorah asked. Tyrion was growing quite tired of listening in on the men's conversations; it seemed he would yet again be traveling away from one point to another. _Will I ever settle down?_ He wondered.

"The Stark girl," Selmy replied. Tyrion turned to look at the man with widened green eyes.

"The eldest? The one that was trapped in King's Landing?" Jorah turned to Tyrion, his eyes narrowing. "Was she not wed to you?"

"She was," Tyrion was at a loss for words, but regained them quickly to answer the question. He had guessed now was not the time to remain silent.

"I have my own eyes in Westeros, though they are separated and not able to share and exchange information. She has been spotted at the Vale, and one hedge knight by the name of Shadrich the Mad Mouse is looking to give the girl's head to Queen Cersei." Selmy looked down at Tyrion. "It seems I owe you a kindness after all, Imp, for killing your lord father and your nephew."

"I did not kill my nephew," Tyrion insisted. "But I did put a quiver in my father's gut."

"She is wanted for the death of Joffrey Baratheon, then?" Jorah asked.

"She is," Selmy nodded his head. "And Mad the Mouse lives in poverty. He is ready to be paid for giving over the body of such a pretty young girl."

"Why do you want to save Sansa Stark?" Tyrion turned to the knight.

"Her father, Eddard Stark, was one of the most noble men I ever knew. He was right to challenge the corruption of our king back in Westeros, and he paid for such loyalty and concern with his head. I was lucky to escape with just a dismissal. I wish to convince Dany to give the Starks back their position as Wardens of the North, under her control. That family is the only one which the Northern clans will bow and obey, and Dany has little hope in taming the wild North if she does not have an ally in doing so."

"You wish to preserve Sansa's life?" Tyrion asked.

"As a kindness to her father and for the sake of what is right. The child is innocent, what has she done to deserve the pain she has endured?"

"Nothing," Tyrion shook his head. "Let me go with Jorah across the sea. Let me find Sansa with him."

"What do you care for the Stark girl?" Jorah looked down at the smaller man. "Your family has hated and competed with the Starks for centuries."

"I think there is a bit more riding on the life of this young girl than our little friend wishes to admit," Selmy looked down to Tyrion. "My ears and eyes did not realize it was the escaped Stark girl at first; it seems like she had died her hair and was under the guise of Lord Baelish's natural born bastard daughter—"

"That gutless snake has Sansa?" Tyrion felt his teeth clench as he looked up at the older knight.

"My ears and eyes also wrote that the girl's belly was also filled with a bastard babe," Selmy looked back at Tyrion, his deep blue eyes watching the smaller man. "Though, I am sure the baby is no bastard."

"She is pregnant?" Jorah asked, then looked down to Tyrion. "You perverted whore monger, you _fucked_ that young, innocent girl?"

"Not against her will," Tyrion replied.

"Sansa was most like thinking about producing an heir to inherit Winterfell. I am sure your father promised she would return to the walls if she had a Lannister child. And so she did."

"Sansa knew what she was doing; she knew that the men of the North would take pity on a young, childbearing Stark girl taken far from her home. She knew that she would be welcomed home with open arms, given a crown." Tyrion shook his blonde hair. "She knew she was going to escape."

"And she did not confide this to you?" Jorah asked.

"She did not," Tyrion frowned.

"I suppose that it would complicate matters if the Stark girl were to ever try to take the Iron Throne." Selmy sighed as he looked down at the map and a list Tyrion had just noticed. The knight took in hand a quill.

"But she would not," Tyrion watched the man begin to write. "She wanted to be far away from that sharp and ugly throne. She has seen enough hurt and horror along the road to winning that crown."

"And what do you suppose she is doing, beginning to collect sympathies from the Royces?"

"She is trying to build her allies to take her back to Winterfell!" Tyrion took a step toward the knight in a sign of threat. "The Boltons are crawling all over her family's home, her brother's killed and her sister most like as well. She has nothing of her heritage but those walls, and an heir. She cannot go back to them until the family that would have her killed is removed."

"And how would she know what she should and should not do?" Jorah asked. "She is younger than Dany, and you say she is more clever?"

"I think she has been in a position where she needed a teacher, she was not raised with the fearless Dothraki," Selmy looked down at the smaller man with a smile. "She had a man who wanted to teach her everything. It seems you are not the only one to fall in love with a woman fighting in the game."

"What are you implying? That the Imp here is in love with Sansa Stark?" Jorah scoffed. "I found the man in a brothel, drunk and fucking some woman."

Tyrion hung his head, ashamed at the truth. He was a man of lapses, and when he gave to drinking excessive amounts he lost his self-control. And he drank a lot when he was trying to drown out the memories of his auburn haired Direwolf bitch.

"If her actions are true, then she loves him," Selmy looked down at the smaller man. "Else she would have drank the moontea far before. Sure, the baby gives her sympathy, but she would look more the victim if she had been raped and traumatized by the small man, rid herself of his child long ago. Just as Cersei is spreading lies that you had Myrcella injured at Dorne."

"What has happened to Myrcella?" Tyrion demanded.

Selmy ignored Tyrion's inquiry about his niece. "She still has your baby, Tyrion Lannister. Which means that she is still a threat for the crown. I will let you continue on with Ser Jorah and will plead the Queen for mercy on your life if you do one thing for the Targaryen girl."

"And what would that be, Ser Barristan?" Tyrion asked. "Kill my child? Do you honestly think that if I love Sansa I will do that?"

"On the contrary, tell your Direwolf lady that she should aim to take back control of the North, but teach her that reaching for the crown will be a danger. Have her men of the North support Daenerys when she crosses the Narrow Sea. Have her pledge her future cause to the Dragon Queen."

"And why do you think that Sansa will be so apt to listen to me? She is not with me now, she left without telling me. Clearly she does not trust me entirely."

"You will convince her if you want her to live. If she backs any other house she could be seen as a traitor to the Targaryen throne, and she could easily be killed by Dany and her 'justice for injustice'. The Queen has not been merciful in her rein so far; tell me that this will change in the future?"

"What makes her so different than Joffrey then?" Tyrion asked.

"Watch your tongue, Imp." Selmy's voice was filled with gruff warning. "My Queen serves the less fortuned instead of praying on them. Your young wolf would have been welcomed in her court, not beaten."

"I will do my best to convince my wife that she should turn to the Dragon's aid, _if_ Daenarys even makes it across the sea."

"Good, then go with Ser Jorah. I will inform my ears and eyes to be on the lookout for Sansa Stark. She is certain to be making an appearance in the Northern parts of the world now that she has been rumored at having left the Vale."

"And where do you propose us making shore if her men back her and not a Lannister?" Jorah looked over to Selmy with an impatient frown, then to Tyrion. The man's eyes hardened with hatred as he looked down at the man.

"Make your way to the Vale, and do your best to hide the Imp. If you find Sansa she will spare his life."

"You put a lot of hope into a woman you do not know." Jorah crossed his arms before his chest. "Dany loved me dearly and she will not welcome me with open arms."

"And she was not raised by Eddard Stark. She is a black and white woman; Sansa is a girl of grey. She knows honor and nobility when she sees it, but her father taught his house the importance of mercy with justice." Selmy looked down at Tyrion. "A trait for which you should be thankful."

"I am." Tyrion replied.

"Return to Illyrio Mopatis' home, I will have my ears and eyes send word when they have heard news of the young Direwolf's next moves." Selmy turned his back on the banished knight and the Imp.

"And you will tell Dany of my service?" Jorah asked.

"I will, but do not come back for the Queen. She will come to you next." Selmy replied. "Now go, unless you wish to die here on the battlefield and never find a chance to see your loves again."

"I will contact you when we have made it to Pentos." Jorah vowed.

"See that you do." Selmy nodded his head without looking at the younger knight.

Tyrion's gate was quick enough to keep up with Jorah as the two men made their way to the encampment of the Second Sons. They would figure out a way to take horses and be on their way to Selhorys to find transportation up to Pentos. Tyrion was determined to walk the whole way there if it meant that he would see Sansa one last time.

And it was then that he found himself wondering if she would still be pregnant when he saw her again, or would she hold their newborn baby in her arms to greet him with?


	39. Realizations

Sansa had awoken in the bed in the middle of the night. Her body was sore and her limbs exhausted, and she found herself needing a drink of water. She shifted to her hips, wincing as she placed weight on her sore lower half. She had nearly forgotten what had happened, the entire occurrence seemed like a bad dream.

The baby squawling next to her proved that the evening in the inn was not something from her travel weary nightmares. She had indeed birthed her baby resting on stool with a bossy midwife, who came from where she did not know, screaming at her at her to push harder. Sansa had wanted to cry from fear and from pain, but the woman was relentless and would not let her give up.

With the woman's determination and coaching, Sansa delivered a purple and blue screaming baby. She had collapsed on the bed, sweat covering her brow and making her red hair stick to her neck. Brienne's blue eyes were wide as she looked down at Sansa's pelvis. Sansa knew something was wrong, but she was too tired to sit up and question what had happened. Bloody rag after bloody rag was pulled from beneath her, her head spinning as she watched. She had been bleeding, so much so that she thought she was going to die.

Instead she had fainted for a spell, waking to find that she was still at the inn and was still alive and breathing. The bleeding had stopped and the midwife had gone, and Podrick stood beside her bed with a bundle in his arms. Sansa had sat up slowly, holding her head as dizziness overtook her. She noticed that her clothes had been changed and the blood stained rags were gone, so was the blanket which they had placed her on after she had birthed sitting on the bench.

She had looked over to Podrick, her eyes wide and confused. He had offered her a small smile and gestured toward the bundle in his arms. ' _You have a son, m'lady_.'

Sansa had held the boy in her arms, the baby crying and kicking his small legs as she held him close. She had taken the small infant from Podrick before, taking the boy against her breast and feeding him his first meal. Now she looked the small infant boy over as she cradled him on her outstretched legs.

He lay in a blanket, his tiny body bare in the open. He had the smallest toes Sansa could ever imagine, wrapping into his small feet. He was longer than he was fat, his legs and arms the longest of him. She smiled at the small hands he held in fists as he clenched his body closer. His wrinkled small face was contracted into a grimace as he let out a small snort and then a cry.

Sansa touched his soft belly with her hands, tears coming to her eyes as she looked over the small human she had carried within her for the past near year. She picked him up under his small armpits, drawing him close to her body; she then took the blanket and wrapped it around him gently. She freed one of her breasts from the shift she had been dressed in, bringing her son's head closer. He quickly latched on and began to suckle; Sansa felt chills run down her spine as she watched him. His small hand flew to his side, and she grabbed it gently in her larger one, placing a kiss on the back on the skin and breathed in his new baby smell before returning the hand to rest at the top of her breast.

"Sansa?" A sleepy voice asked in the dark. Sansa had not realized she was alone; she had fed the small boy and then collapsed in exhaustion once more, Myranda coming to her aid to help clean and care for the newborn as she rested.

"Podrick?" Sansa asked, squinting her eyes in the dark. No doubt her breast would intimidate the young man, but she was too tired to care.

"Are you well?" The voice came from the foot of her bed. He must have curled up at the end on the floor, her ever present friend and guardian.

"I am much better," Sansa replied, cupping her son's head in her hand as he nursed.

"I was not sure...I was not sure that you were going to live," Podrick stood to his feet, making his way over to the side of the bed. Sansa moved her legs in so that he could sit before her on the mattress. "Lady Brienne said that there was a lot of blood, and you were going quite white-"

"I survived, Podrick, that is all we need to focus on," Sansa pulled the baby closer to her body.

"You have a boy, m'lady," he bowed his head. "Was there a name Lord Tyrion and m'lady choose in preparation for this occasion?"

"Lord Tyrion and I did not discuss names for the child," Sansa replied, looking down at the boy. "I wish to call him Robert, Robb as his pet name." Sansa leaned down to kiss the infant's head. "In memory of my brother who was killed before he had his own son."

"It is a good name, m'lady," Podrick nodded his head.

"Robb Lannister," Sansa smiled as the baby let go of her breast. She tucked her breast back into her shift, placing the baby on her shoulder. "Will the Northern men like that name?"

"I do not know, m'lady."

"I suppose they will have no choice; there is no undoing what is done." She rubbed the child's back comfortingly, laying her own body back on the pillows. "Do you want to hold him, Pod?"

"I already did once, m'lady," Podrick's brown eyes widened. Sansa laughed.

"You should grow used to holding him; you are his protector and friend." She took the baby back in her hands, passing him forward to Podrick. Podrick's arms were shaking as he took the small child in hand, the baby snorted and his hands mushed into his face, his head tilting backwards with its much heavier weight. "Make sure you just hold his head, so he doesn't fall backwards and hurt himself." Sansa explained.

Podrick took the small baby in his arms, placing Robb's head into the crook of his elbow. He smiled down at the infant who began to press his hand into his mouth. "The little lord is so small," he marveled as he lifted his hand to touch Robb's small arms. "I do not remembering him being this small when I held him the first time."

"It was a bit of a confusing time, I am sure." Sansa said. Podrick smiled as he watched Robb squirm in his arms. The baby let out a small cry.

"I am not sure what I did, m'lady," Podrick panicked as he jostled the baby in fear.

"Babies cry, Podrick," Sansa replied, though she quickly wanted the boy back as she watched the squire jostle him. "Just be careful, Pod."

As Podrick was shifting the baby in his arms to prepare to hand him back to his mother, Robb let out a tremendous belch and proceeded to spit up all over the squire. Sansa looked at Podrick with wide eyes, not sure how to react as the young man looked down at his brown shirt which was now decorated with white milky puke.

Podrick stood frozen with Robb in his hands before he looked at Sansa with wide brown eyes. The two held the gaze for a moment, before the squire started to laugh. "I supposed I deserved that for being so rough."

"I am sorry, Pod, I should take him back so you can get a clean tunic," Sansa took the baby back into her hands, pulling him close. She took the hem of her shift and wiped the drool of spit up which fell from Robb's mouth.

"I am sure it is just the little lord's way of telling me that we are bound to be friends. Perhaps I can squire for him one day."

"I am sure you will be beyond a squire, Pod. I am sure you will be one of Robb's most trusted knights." Sansa smiled. She leaned over to place a kiss on Robb's velvety soft forehead.

"I will return in just a moment, m'lady. Lady Brienne left my bag downstairs and I have an extra shirt in it. It will be better than this soiled one for now."

"I am sorry to have awaked you, Podrick." Sansa replied.

"It is alright, m'lady. I was not really asleep." He stood up from the bed, turning to smile at Sansa one more time before making his way to the door. When he exited he left the door ajar behind him.

Sansa settled deeper into the pillows and mattress, sleep tugging at her eyelids. She wrapped Robb tightly in the blanket and placed him next to her side. She then curled around the boy, her arm wrapping protectively around his small body. The baby was drifting to sleep as Sansa stroked his forehead, waiting to see his tiny eyes clothes and his breathing become rhythmic before she herself succumbed to sleep.

Just as she was about to close her eyes, she heard the sound of booted feet entering the room. She shifted slightly to sit up, trying to see who it was in the darkness.

"Pod?" She asked, wondering why the boy was making so much noise.

"Did you know that you are Lady Lannister, now?" The voice was one she had heard before, but it was certainly not Podrick's. "Since Tywin Lannister is dead, and Jaime Lannister is unable to inherit anything. This means you inherit Casterly Rock."

"I...I am not Lady Lannister," Sansa replied. "I am Alayne Stone, just a bastard born girl who is making her way on the King's Road."

"With two knights, a squire, and a lady?" It was clear that whoever owned the voice certainly did not believe her.

"The lady is who I travel with." Sansa felt fear clench her heart.

"Sansa Stark, you are not the best of liars. You always need someone's help." The footsteps came closer. "Just like you needed Lord Baelish's help. It's a shame the dirty man was too worried about devouring your flesh and less about the power you have….and the enemies you have made. That was most disappointing."

"Shadrich!" Sansa exclaimed.

"I did not realize it was you, my lady, when I first came to the Eyrie. I thought you did not look like Petyr Baelish, but the dark hair and the pregnancy took me off your trail for a while. It was not long until I was able to see through your facade and figure out who you truly were." She could now see his thin outline in the small amount of moonlight entering the half shuddered window to her left.

"What do you want?" Sansa asked, pulling Robb close. The baby was awoken by her grab, and began to cry.

"Are you aware of how much your pretty head is worth, Sansa Lannister?" Shadrich asked, his footsteps approaching even more closely. His red hair was silver in the moonlight.

"Please, I will find some way to pay you, my lord husband has gold." Sansa pulled the crying baby closer.

"And his head is worth so much more than either of you would pay me." Shadrich stepped fully into what little natural light seeped in through the windows. "And how interesting to find Lady Sansa with the Imp's baby. Oh, you thought that I believed it was Marillion's or even Littlefinger's? I am not stupid, m'lady." He held a sword in hand which glinted in the light. "I wonder if your baby is wanted dead or alive? I suppose that all depends on whether or not he is as deformed as his father."

"Get away from me!" Sansa sobbed, she tumbled out of bed with Robb in her hands, making her way to the wall. Her legs were weary and heavy and she stumbled more than walked. Robb continued to cry in her hands, his wails becoming screams.

"Shut that bastard up or I will do it myself." Shadrich commanded, lifting his sword.

"I will pay you, I promise. You can have gold and prestige and whatever you want if you join me."

"And the last person who told me that lost, and now I have no money and no pride. And what if you lose, Sansa? It seems to me that the winning side is the one who is in want of your head."

"You would not kill a baby and its mother!" Sansa protested.

"For gold I would fuck you until you bled and then kill your child, just like the Mountain did to that Martell bitch, if it will please the Queen Regent and the men of King's Landing." Shadrich sneered. "Give me the baby, Sansa Stark, or….ugnh!" He was unable to finish the sentence as he paused, his body paralyzed in pain.

He gurgled a couple times, Sansa clutching Robb tightly to her breast as she watched the man then stumble forward and hit the floor. Behind the man stood Podrick, his brown eyes wide and his expression filled with shock and disbelief.

"Podrick, what happened?" Sansa asked.

"I...I just went to change my shirt and then I heard the little lord screaming. I turned and came back. That's when I heard his voice and…" He looked down at his hands which were dark in the moon's glow.

"Did you stab him?" Sansa asked, looking at the body. Sure enough the end of a dagger was sticking out of the groaning man's back.

"I...I do not really know what I did, m'lady." Podrick confessed. The two watched Shadrich's body struggle to stand before he collapsed, going quiet.

Footsteps followed as Sansa tried to calm her screaming baby. Brienne and Albar burst into the room, both carrying swords in hand.

"What has happened?" Brienne asked, looking across the room at Podrick and Sansa.

"Shad…Shadrich returned. He must have followed us; he must have defied Lord Petyr's warning." Sansa looked down at the dead man.

"We should go, Lady Sansa." Brienne said. Myranda entered the room behind the two knights. "We cannot guarantee that Lord Petyr is not far behind you. If Shadrich has come, perhaps he, too, cares less about waiting and more about getting what he wants."

"The lady knight is right," Albar nodded his head. "Perhaps we should be on our way."

"I can go North to White Harbor," Brienne vowed. "I will leave soon. Dawn will upon us soon enough."

"I will go with you, Lady Brienne." Myranda nodded her head. "Perhaps I can convince the Manderlys that they must help Lady Sansa—especially with such a small baby."

"I do not know if I want you to leave me, Randa." Albar looked down at his sister.

"I will be fine, Alb, Lady Brienne is a good knight, and if it is just the two of us we will make it to White Harbor without a scratch on us." Myranda glanced over to the knight. "Or, if she gets in a fight, at least there will not be a scratch on me."

"Lady Sansa and I should make our ways to the Pink Maiden." Podrick spoke up.

"No, I will stay here and direct Lord Baelish to White Harbor. You must arrive there before he, but not before Brienne and Randa are able to speak in your stead. It would look more formidable," Albar interrupted. "Have Podrick take you the long way around to the harbor, stop at Fairmarket for a few days. You will look less suspicious, a squire and a girl about his age with a baby. Disguise yourself as a traveling family if you must, but do not allow anyone to know that this is Sansa Stark and her child by Tyrion Lannister," Albar commanded.

"We should all go now, while we still have the cover of night and we can easily go our separate ways." Brienne replied. "I will send word back to the inn when I have reached White Harbor."

"And I as well," Podrick replied.

"May the Seven go with us," Randa mumbled. Sansa looked around at the four people who had brought her so far with a defeated sigh. The four were exhausted and worn down, how could they possibly hope to continue on in their conditions?

The same way she had to. Sansa pulled Robb close to her again. "Robert, Robb Lannister. That is his name." Sansa said. The two knights, the squire, and the lady looked at her.

"Robb," Myranda mused. "I find it fitting."

"Godspeed to my lady and little Lord Robb," Brienne said, smiling down sweetly at the quieted infant. "Come, Lady Randa, it is time we gathered our things and began our journey."

"Same with us, m'lady." Podrick turned to Sansa. Sansa nodded her head.

"I will be ready in just a few moments." Sansa was ignoring the pain which was overtaking her pelvis region. Her body had gone through more than she cared to remember, but she had to push it even further if she wanted her baby to survive.

"Until ours paths cross again," Albar spoke. He approached Sansa then leaned over to place a kiss on her cheek. He touched the baby gently before turning to leave. Brienne followed in suite. When Myranda came to bid Sansa farewell, she threw her arms around the woman and gave her wet kiss on the cheek. She touched and then kissed Robb's head. The three people then turned and left her and Podrick alone.

 _Oh please,_ Sansa prayed. _Please just let us get to White Harbor. And if by some miracle I could find Tyrion again, please let him be alright._


	40. Travelers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay! It's been a busy couple weeks at work and along with my side jobs, I've been too tired to write anything decent! But work has slowed down for now, and I was able to work on DTC this week! So in apology for the long delay, here is an extra long chapter for tonight. Hope you enjoy! - Lydia

The days passed slowly for Sansa. She had seen several maids raise young ones at Winterfell, but babies were something her mother had not well versed her in before the two were separated. And she certainly never expected to raise her own child, seeing as she thought she was going to become the queen. She would have had a wet nurse; she would have had septas and handmaidens to help her care for the young babe. Sansa did not have the luxury of help any longer; she was bound to figure out this mothering duty on her own. This only stressed her and her mount out, and caused Podrick to be near as skittish as the horse he rode.

Sansa held Robb close to her chest, wrapped in fabrics she had fashioned into a crude cradle for the baby to nestle at the front of her body while she kept atop the mount. Robb was fussing again, his cries echoing along the quiet hills as she tried to shift him on her body once more. She had already offered him a breast, had rubbed his back soothingly, and checked his small cloth to be sure he had not passed water. He was dry and fed and burped, but still he cried, his little fists clenched in protest. Sansa groaned as she gently lifted the baby out of his makeshift bed and brought him to her shoulder, glad that Podrick had been sensible enough to tie her horse to the saddle of his own. She held on tightly with her thighs as she let go of the reins and pressed Robb to her shoulder.

"Do you need a rest, m'lady?" Podrick asked, turning in the saddle to look at her with wide brown eyes. Sansa shook her head.

"I do not know how much good that will do. I will not quiet him any better not moving, and we will lose time."

"We are near Fairmarket, m'lady. I would say a good four days' ride out if we keep this pace." Podrick clung to a weathered map in his right hand, he lay the rest of the parchment across his mount's neck as he traced a road with his finger. "We will be able to rest for a couple days, and perhaps his little lordship will feel better and protest less."

"I can only hope so," Sansa cradled the back of the baby's head with her hand.

He was exhausting her, waking her up several times during the night in demands for food or a small clothes change. Even when she was able to grab a couple hours of sleep, she worried for him, tucking him closer to her body.

"I am sure he will settle once he is not on the back of a horse, I can only guess that he does not enjoy being jostled about on these rough roads. M'lady does not want to go on much longer with these rocks either, if I may say so." Podrick drew up slightly so that Sansa could ride closer to him and the two could carry on conversation.

"I am fine, Pod. I promise you, I will make irritating complaints if I am in the slightest bit of distress, like a proper lady." Sansa's blue eyes twinkled at him as her smile graced her face. She was doing her best to mask the uncomfortable strain the saddle was putting on her woman's parts, still sore after giving birth to her baby. Sansa tried to change the subject as quickly as she could once Podrick started asking questions in regard to her well-being. "Do you think he will have my eyes or Tyrion's?"

"M'lady?" Podrick asked as he looked over at the baby. Sansa took the child in her hands and tipped in down so that Podrick could see Robb's slate blue eyes, taking in the world around him as he had finally quieted.

"My mother told me that all babies are born with blue eyes when my brother Rickon was born. He had the brightest blue eyes I had ever seen; he ended up having bright gray eyes with tints of blue. Though his hair was much like my mother's," Sansa smiled. "I can already tell that young Robb here is like his uncle, he already has red in his hair."

"I think the little lord will take after m'lady with eyes the color of the Tully's rivers." Podrick replied.

"I hope that he has Tyrion's eyes, so that I could be reminded of his father whenever I look at him." Sansa said, running her hand down the belly of her son.

"Does m'lady miss m'lord?" Podrick asked. Sansa looked over at him, chewing on her lip before answering.

"I do, Pod. I miss Tyrion greatly. He was kind and merciful to me; he did not want to hurt me, unlike the rest of his family." Sansa's heart skipped as she realized the cruel things she said about the Lannister family. A glance over to Podrick out of the corner of her eye allowed her to breathe a little easier as she saw he took no real thought to the statement.

"M'lord loved you, m'lady." Podrick said.

"I am sure Tyrion cared a great deal for me." Sansa replied, brushing off Podrick's statement with the blink of her eyes.

"No, he truly did love m'lady. He worried fiercely for you, when you were quiet and sad." Podrick said. "He told me so himself."

"That he loved me?" Sansa asked.

"Not in those exact words, but I have seen many things in the courts, and I have seen few men care for a woman like Lord Tyrion cared for you." Podrick's words warmed Sansa's heart. "May I ask m'lady a question?"

"Ask away, dear Podrick. We are near friends now, are we not? What with us masquerading as lovers and all," Sansa teased, wrinkling her nose.

"Did m'lady love her husband?" Podrick asked. Sansa felt her limbs lock, her brain stopping as she tried to think of an answer.

"I…I…I…" she stammered.

"Do not worry m'lady. You do not need to answer." Podrick's voice shook with as much nervousness as she had.

"I did not when I…he and I, we…made Robb," Sansa replied. "But in his absence, I suppose that I discovered that perhaps I do. I think about him daily, and I miss him."

"I have heard love is a very hard emotion to understand," Podrick offered some grace to Sansa. She smiled warmly back to him.

"More than you could imagine," she reached out to touch Pod's arm affectionately.

"Halt!" A voice called ahead, Sansa turning her attention from her travel companion to look ahead. Her heart flipped in her stomach as she saw a soldier in the distance in full armor, his metal chest plate bearing the battle worn and chipped image of a rearing lion.

"Podrick," Sansa whispered as she drew Robb close to her body.

"Where are traveling to, my good ser?" The soldier approached on horseback.

"We…we…we are just travelling to Fairmarket. To visit my aunt." Podrick stammered. Sansa knew that the soldier would never believe the excuse and she could feel her arms quake as she held Robb.

"Is that so?" The soldier looked at Podrick, then to Sansa behind him. "Your woman has very beautiful hair."

"Thank you, ser," Sansa replied. The knight looked at her with a raised eyebrow then nudged his horse further.

"Follow me to the encampment just ahead; I would like my commander to take a look at the likes of you before you head onward."

"We are just going to Fairmarket, ser, I promise you on my mother's grave." Podrick's white face revealed the lie.

"Now, lad, before I have to hurt you." The soldier's authoritarian voice caused Sansa to jump and Robb started crying once more.

* * *

The two were flanked by the soldier to the encampment which lay just over the hill. Sansa felt her bowels quiver as she passed sigil and banner bearing the rearing lions of House Lannister. _You should feel welcome here, Sansa. You are a Lannister, as proof by the infant in front of you. Though your father was a traitor and your husband a kinslayer._ Sansa closed her eyes as she was brought deeper into the lion's den. The two were led to the front of a large tent which was the company's headquarters, as evidenced by the circle of tents facing the shelter. The soldier commanded Podrick to get off his horse, and then told Sansa to follow suite. Sansa closed her eyes and wished the two of them had come up with false identities to hide under; neither were expecting attention or company on the road, nor recognition in Fairmarket.

Podrick came to Sansa's side and took Robb from her arms so Sansa could get down. Sansa yielded the boy, then slowly eased her weary body from the saddle. She took her baby back into her arms as soon as her feet hit the ground.

"Come with me," the soldier beckoned the two with the wave of his hand. Sansa looked at Podrick with wide blue eyes, the boy just shrugged in response. He took the first step in obedience toward the knight.

"Who are we meeting, ser?" Sansa asked as she followed.

"Into the tent," the soldier opened the flap and pointed into its bowels. Podrick stepped inside and Sansa knew she had no other choice at this point. She followed the squire, pressing her baby tightly to her chest.

As the two entered the tent, she could see a wooden table laid out in the center of the room, a map and several figures atop the paper in organized patterns and groups showed detailed plans. Sansa looked at the two men across the room. One was tall and stocky; his dark hair was greasy and draped the top of his body armour. Sansa then looked to the men he was talking to, and nearly let out a cry. The man could have been Cersei; the resemblance of the Queen Regent was uncanny in the angular face and blonde hair which fell over his forehead. His green eyes took in the man before him. In his jawline Sansa saw traces of her little lord husband as well. She glanced at the hand which the blonde man cradled against his body and realized it was glimmering in gold. _This is Jaime Lannister_.

"Thank you, Ser Jonos," The light featured man replied. "It seems that I was brought unassuming travelers which I must address in the time being. I shall have to talk once more with my command about dragging in every peasant who uses side roads to reach the northern markets." His teeth were square and pretty. Sansa could understand why people thought well of Jaime; he was a very beautiful man.

"Of course, Ser Jaime," Jonos bowed his head, then turned and walked past the two. Sansa stepped to the side so the knight could pass her without bumping her arms or the precious cargo.

"Now I have the case of my two young peasants here. Why are you traveling through land which has been savaged by battles? Especially with a young baby?" Jaime turned to look at the two, his left hand wrapping around his right wrist, the wrist which bore the golden hand.

"We just wanted to get to Fairmarket to—" Podrick started.

"I know you," Jaime squinted his eyes at the boy. "I have seen you before."

"I am sure you have not, good ser." Sansa insisted. "He is oft mistaken for people he is not. I am sure you are just misremembering."

"You are Podrick Payne," Jaime's mouth squared into a frown. "You were my younger brother's squire. You saved his life at the Battle of the Blackwater, if I am not mistaken."

Podrick flushed as Jaime uncovered the boy's identity. Sansa flushed as she felt Jaime's green eyes turn to take her in. Her hair was not the brilliant auburn it was when Jaime had seen her last, but the brown had quickly faded and the red was coming through, most notably at the roots. Sansa closed her eyes as she prayed fervently that the man would not recognize her. His brother had killed his father, both Sansa and Tyrion were accused of killing his nephew, the king he served and protected.

"Your companion," Jaime began, his boots clicking on the hard ground as he stepped nearer to Sansa. "A maiden of auburn hair and," she felt Jaime's fingers stretch out to tilt her chin upwards. Sansa looked the man in his green eyes. _Oh Tyrion,_ Sansa thought. "And blue eyes. Sansa Stark."

"Do not hurt me, ser, please." Sansa pleaded.

"Why would I hurt you?" Jaime asked.

"Because my lord husband killed your father and I supposedly killed your nephew, and my family were traitors. We betrayed King Joffrey."

"Your mother also held me captive," Jaime replied. Sansa felt the tears welling in her eyes.

"Please, ser,"

"And I promised a dear friend of mine that I would care for you, I would find you, Sansa Stark, and lead you to safety."

"But you will be in great danger." Sansa replied. She could not allow Jaime to interfere on the plan which she and Myranda had worked so intimately on.

"Why are you worried for me, Lady Sansa?" Jaime asked, the corner of his mouth curling into a smile. "And who is this you have here?"

Sansa felt her heart tightening as she was faced with another decision. She could pretend that Robb was a babe she found helplessly on the side of the road. But Jaime would grow suspicious if he detained the two and she was discovered giving Robb milk from her own body. Sansa knew she had to try to trust the man whom her brother admired deeply.

"This is my son, Robb." Sansa tipped the baby toward Jaime. Jaime looked down at the boy, his light eyebrows knitting.

"What trouble have you tangled yourself in, Sansa Stark?" Jaime asked, his eyes sweeping over Robb's small face.

"Enough trouble to get me killed, if you are not merciful to me." Sansa replied.

"Of course I will be. You are Tyrion's wife, and he admired you, speaking of you kindly when I visited him in his prison, where you had abandoned him. He was broken to find you were gone."

"I know," Sansa closed her eyes. "I did not mean to cause him such pain."

"And this baby?" Jaime looked down at her. "How are you to explain him to my brother?"

"Tyrion?" Sansa's eyes widened as she looked at her brother in law. "You know that Tyrion is alive?"

"As long as Varys stayed true to his word, my brother is far across the sea."

"He is not in Westeros?" Sansa asked, her heart sank once more.

"It would be better if he is not in Westeros; any dwarf who is left alive will soon depart with his head soon enough." Jaime sighed. "My sister is sick with grief and wants her revenge."

"Oh," Sansa replied. Would she ever be able to get Tyrion back? Jaime was right, her little lord husband would be too easy to spot in a crowd.

"You have not answered my question; how are you to explain this to my brother, who worried for you so deeply?" Jaime's mouth was a frown.

"He knows," Sansa said. "This is your nephew." Sansa replied.

"You…you are a Lannister," Jaime blinked in his trailing silence.

"I am, this is Robbert Lannister. He is not a full Stark, but I wish that he would inherit Winterfell someday."

"My sister would never allow that," Jaime frowned.

"And she would not be able to control the men in the north when she tries to take Winterfell and place her own house there."

"You have heard about the men in the north?" Jaime asked.

"I have grown up learning the clans and the houses," Sansa replied. "Why would I not know them?"

"I mean the other men in the north, Sansa." Jaime replied.

"What are you talking about?"

"The men who will not stay dead." Jaime replied. "And the men of white."

"I still do not understand what you mean," Sansa looked up at Jaime.

"There is much happening in the north, Sansa, much which is not happened before."

"The north often rebels when we Starks are taken from Winterfell. Perhaps it would be in your best interest to hold to your promise to a friend that you would get me to safety."

"Safety would be sending you to where my brother is across the sea and far from this war." Jaime replied, crossing his arms before his chest.

"Safety would be allowing me to head north, as I have planned, so that I may take back that which is rightfully mine. I am not asking for the Kingdom, Ser Jaime. I am merely asking for my son to be able to return to his family's home and be raised in the north as every Stark should be."

Jaime sighed as he looked down at her with hard green eyes. "Tyrion got a better match than he expected from the gods."

"I mean no harm, I promise," Sansa insisted.

"I will think upon what you have said, Sansa. And I will give you my answer in two hours' time. For the moment, I will care for you. You and Podrick will go to my quarters to get some food in your bellies. And do what you must with the child," Jaime's attention went from Sansa to the now squirming child.

"You have to let us go, Jaime. If not for my sake, but for your brother's," Sansa insisted.

"I will think on it, my lady. I have many loyalties, and I have foolishly made many oaths. I must decide which ones I must break and which ones I must keep. Will you not be satisfied to be reunited with your husband?"

"More than anything, but not to spend the rest of our lives running." Sansa replied. "I will take what is mine, Jaime Lannister. Whether you help me or you abandon me."

She looked at the knight with steely blue eyes before turning and leaving the tent, passing on Jaime's instructions to take her to his personal tent with Podrick to the guard outside the door. The man raised an eyebrow in response to the orders, but Sansa ignored the man's perverted grin as her stomach growled in anticipation for hot, good food.

* * *

Sansa and Podrick had settled into the tent which provided the sleeping quarters for the illustrious Jaime Lannister. A servant brought the two a bowl of warm soup and each received a palm of crusty bread to scrape the sides with. Podrick immediately handed over his slice of bread to Sansa.

"No, Podrick, I cannot take your food from you," Sansa replied, refusing to take the bread.

"Think of it as me giving it to his little lordship, if you will not take it." Podrick had insisted. Sansa took the bread knowing that he would not eat it. While she did not wish to take from her husband's squire, she was finding it harder to produce enough milk for the little boy's tummy with the little food the two had for the road.

As soon as Sansa had eaten she had taken Robb close in her arms and drew him closer to her breast so that he could fill his own tummy. Podrick flushed red and turned away just as he did every time she nursed the child. Sansa had to admit to herself that she found it more amusing now that she had come to know the squire a little better in their time alone. Podrick was a respectful young lad, and she was thankful for his company and protection on the road.

After what seemed like an eternity, but Sansa reasoned was only two hours' time, Jaime returned to the tent. Podrick had been dozing off where he sat, jerking back to an upright position when his drifting off threatened to upset his balance. Sansa's own head was swimming with a need to sleep, and the luxurious pillows and sheets which adorned the tent were soft on skin which had grown accustomed to sleeping on the hard cold ground. Jaime startled the two from their dazed positions as he strode into the tent, his arms crossed before his chest.

"I have commanded that sleeping quarters be prepared for the two of you while we talk over what we are going to do about you, Lady Stark." Jaime frowned.

"I am going north, that is what I told you. And nothing shall persuade me otherwise." Sansa was sitting cross-legged, her dress pulled taught between her thighs creating a makeshift bed for her sleeping son.

"And I promised Brienne, and by association your mother, that I would keep you safe. Sending you into the hands of the Bolton is far from safe." Jaime would not give in easily.

"I appreciate the gesture, but I need to do what is right for me and my son. I have made it this far, and I am still in the care of Petyr Baelish."

"The man who is responsible for the death of your father?" Jaime chuckled. "You are a poor judge of character, I must admit, Lady Sansa."

"What do you mean?" Sansa asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked up at Jaime.

"My brother did not tell you? I would think he would have told his child bride everything, seeing as you are rebelling against our family with our own blood," Jaime's curt manner was a pretense; Sansa could see it in the way that his eyebrows tensed when he talked to her. He was used to acting in charge and she was challenging his station, it did not surprise her that he was getting annoyed. Tyrion was prone to the same reaction.

"It's not rebellion. By association and lineage, Winterfell would be part House Lannister." Sansa replied.

Jaime looked at her, his green eyes glowing with annoyance. "You know what I am implying, Sansa. And why should I help you anyway? My brother and you are accused of killing my nephew. Do you know what I am even here in the Riverlands, Sansa Stark?"

"I do not; I have been in the Eyrie all this time." Sansa confessed.

"I am here to put out the last fires of rebellion in the name of House Stark and House Tully in the Riverlands. I have just torn asunder the last house that supported your family and your cause. Do you not think it a bit strange for me to help you?"

"Then tell me what Lord Petyr did to my father and I will be on my way." Sansa answered, her eyebrows crossing in anger.

"Lord Petyr lulled your father into a false sense of security, promising to supply him an army to remove Cersei and Joffrey from power. And when it came time for Petyr to give him help, Petyr turned his men on Lord Eddard Stark and turned him in, accusing him of treason and falsehood."

"Lord Petyr would not do that, why would he save me otherwise? Why would he not turn me in for the gold dragons he would receive?"

"Because his love for Lady Catelyn Stark was too fierce, much richer than dragons. And if I do say so, my lady, your resemblance of your lady mother is very strong." Jaime said.

"Lord Petyr wanted to remove my father so that he could win my mother back," Sansa reasoned, more for her own benefit than to challenge Jaime's claims.

"Tyrion did not tell you any of this?" Jaime asked.

"He might have tried, it." Sansa admitted.

"He would have tread lightly; he valued you as much as Lord Petyr valued your mother." Jaime replied.

"And Lord Petyr wants me because I am like her. A twin." Sansa already knew of this. "I wish Tyrion had told me."

"Perhaps it was best he had not; would you have gone with Littlefinger? I am making the assumption that he was the one who spirited you away from King's Landing." Jaime said.

"More or less, yes." Sansa nodded her head, her eyes looking at her son as she tried to process the information she had just been given.

"If you had not gone with Lord Petyr than you would have stood trial with Tyrion, and perhaps I could not have saved you both."

"I am grateful that you helped him escape," Sansa thanked the blonde knight.

"He was my brother; I could not let him die. I knew that he was not responsible for Joffrey's death. Tyrion may be impulsive and reckless at times, but he is not one to do something as cruel as that." Jaime paused, then sighed. "Or, at least he normally would not have."

"I assume you speak of your father when you say this." Sansa said.

"How do you know about my father?" Jaime asked.

"Tyrion's fondness for me may not be one-sided," Sansa's cheeks reddened as she ran her thumb along the cheek of her sleeping baby. "I wanted to know what happened to Robb's father, to my husband when I had run off to the Eyrie."

"You care for Tyrion?" Jaime's voice was filled with surprise. Sansa looked up to meet Jaime's green eyes. She looked down at the lion's head ring on her finger, holding forth the hand to show Jaime the jewelry.

"That was my brother's prized ring," Jaime's eyes widened.

"It is, and I do. I truly came to realize so only when I had left. He was kind to me. That is why I ask this of you now, to help me. That is why I trust you. Tyrion admired you, he trusted you. If he could trust you, surely I can too. He would not have entrusted me to someone who is cruel."

Jaime's mouth squared as he looked down at her, suggesting he was pondering what she had just said to him. He did not speak for several moments and Sansa dreaded that she had made the wrong choice of trusting him. Jaime was Tyrion's brother, but he was also Cersei's, and even more so he was the Queen Regent's twin.

"Sansa Stark, Sansa _Lannister,"_ Jaime began. "I will help you. But not for your sake. I am helping you for Tyrion's sake. Though I would much rather send you across the sea to where he was sentenced, I know that he will not stay in one place long if you are here. Especially with young Robbert."

"What will you do for us?" Sansa asked.

"I will provide an escort to take you and young Podrick to any town in the north you wish me to take you. My brother is foolhardy, but he has always been in need of someone to care for him."

"I will stay with him, if the gods are good and bring us together once more." Sansa replied.

"Very well, then. A soldier will meet you and your son, as well as Pod at the front of this tent in the morning." Jaime instructed her. "What town will he be escorting you to?"

"Fairmarket," Sansa said.

"That is only a few days' ride."

"I have company I am meeting there," Sansa replied.

"Then you shall depart in the morning. Good night, my lady, Podrick," Jaime bowed to them curtly before turning and leaving the tent.

"That was very brave, to trust Ser Jaime as you did," Podrick finally spoke up.

"Tyrion would have trusted him, and he saved my husband. I owe him my trust at the very least." Sansa replied. "We should sleep, Podrick. We have quite the ride ahead of us."

* * *

Jaime was good in his word and a soldier was waiting for the two the next morning. He had already packed and saddled Podrick and Sansa's horses, clearly not wanting to waste any time. He was off at a quick pace as soon as the two other riders were in the saddles.

He did not want to stop in the journey unless the need was so great it could not be avoided. Sansa had to learn to make the unpleasant experience of breastfeeding in a bumpy saddle under the protection of her cloak quickly. She and Robb had several hard learning experiences of the boy's mouth clamping too hard down on her teat and causing Sansa's eyes to water. The two soon found the most comfortable way to do so, and Sansa was able to stay on the horse much longer. She needed only to stop to change Robb's small clothes and make water of her own.

The days were as quiet as they were long; neither Podrick nor Sansa wanted to say anything incriminating to one another in front of the soldier. The days were also fewer than the ones she and Podrick had taken before being captured by Jaime's troops, but they seemed much longer because of the prolonged silence and tense air.

Sansa was glad for the morning the soldier announced it would not be much further to Fairmarket. She was ready to be out of the saddle for good. She had given Podrick some money which Myranda had loaned her so that she could pay for an inn under the guise that the two of them were a young married couple. The afternoon was even more tense than the days before and Robb cried more than he had ever. Sansa knew her own feelings fueled his screams, but she could not settle herself as she followed the soldier quickly. He was just as glad to be rid of them; as soon as the gates of Fairmarket were in sight he turned, instructing them that he would watch until they entered the town before leaving.

Podrick and Sansa hurried along, Sansa instructing Pod what to say when he approached an innkeeper. The two were not able to get much past the gates, however, before they were stopped by another group of horseman. Sansa's heart sank as a man grabbed hold of her horse's reins in his hand.

"Alayne Stone?" The man asked.

"And what of her?" Sansa looked down at him.

"Do you know her? I am looking for her. And so is m'lord." The man was tall and muscled, his dark eyes and dark facial hair made him even more menacing combined with his stature.

"I may be her," Sansa replied. The man responded with a low whistle.

A man approached the two of them; he was tall as well, and leanly muscled from days of fighting in tourneys, she assumed as she looked him over. He was knight, and his shield bore the crest of a black broken wheel on a field of green.

"House Waynwood," Sansa whispered to Podrick.

"Alayne Stark?" The knight asked. His hair was a dirty blonde color, and his deep blue eyes made Sansa's heart race. "Or should I call you Sansa?"

"Hush!" Sansa commanded, her chest flushing. He smiled at her and his cheeks dimpled. He was an extremely handsome young knight.

"You may call me Harry," he bowed to her.

"Harrold Hardying?" Sansa asked.

"Aye," the man smiled again. "We have lodging at a local tavern. We have ordered an extra room be kept empty for the time being, in anticipation for your arrival."

"But how did you know about my arrival?"

"I came after you, when I came to the Gates of the Moon to find that you had left. I was only a few days behind you, and came across Myranda Royce and a lady knight."

"Brienne," Sansa nodded her head. "And they told you I was coming to Fairmarket?"

"You must have been delayed, we thought for sure we would arrive after you, but after asking about if one had seen a girl with ruddy hair and blue eyes none had seen you." Harry smiled at her. "Your beauty is something which cannot be hidden; I see that now and know that men would have been aware of your presence."

"You are flattering, ser," Sansa replied. Podrick climbed down from his horse to approach Harry.

"M'lord, m'lady is very tired and we would very much like to arrive to this inn you speak of," his voice was commanding, and Sansa blinked in surprise.

"Of course, lad." Harry chuckled. "Who is this little pet you bring with you?" He looked up at Sansa.

"Podrick Payne, he was my husband's squire. He is a good boy, and will make a good knight one day." Sansa replied.

"I see," Harry looked the boy up and down. "If Lady Sansa keeps you by her side, I shall as well."

"Let me take m'little lord so m'lady can get down." Podrick replied, reaching his arms up toward Sansa. Sansa could see that Podrick's face was twisted into a frown. He clearly was not impressed by the knight. Sansa had to admit that she was a bit enraptured by the man's handsome appearance.

"And who else do you have in your envoy?" Harry looked over at the baby.

"My son, Robb," Sansa replied.

"I am sorry that the Imp forced himself upon you in such a way, m'lady." Harry said.

"Did you not hear it was Lady Lysa's songboy, Marillion?" Sansa asked.

"I did not, I had just assumed that the evil, lusty halfman had taken out his lusty desires on you," Harry replied, looking over Pod's shoulders to look down at Robb. "He is a handsome boy; it would make more sense if it were Marillion and his wiley ways."

"We should be on our way to the inn, m'lord." Podrick interrupted again, standing close to Sansa who had been helped down from her saddle by Harry.

"Of course," Harry held his arm in front of him. "It is not far from here, let us walk."

Harry took to Sansa's side, walking very closely to her side. Podrick walked behind, carrying Robb in his arms. Sansa was glad for the break her arms were receiving from Robb's growing weight. Harry preoccupied the walk with talk of Lord Petyr's coming and how he was excited for the wedding between the two of them, though he did not understand why Lord Petyr would want a wife Sansa's age. It would due to have a wife of appropriate experience. He said the statement with such sincerity that Sansa knew he meant no insult to her, but instead was suggesting Petyr pursued a wife who knew the Eyrie and its needs. Sansa found the man charming, the knight she had dreamed of before she had been forced to marry Tyrion.

The thought of her husband stopped her in her dreamy glances toward the handsome Harry. She felt guilty for thinking so lively of the young knight when she was already married. She also noted that Podrick was silent the entire walk, not once offering any information, or responding when Harry asked him a question.

Sansa was glad when the group had reached the tavern, taking her son from Podrick as they passed through the doors.

"Would you like something to eat, m'lady? We could find you a small table in the corner. Podrick and I could eat with you, keep a good eye on you, to be sure you are safe."

"I am rather tired, ser. But I thank you for your good thoughts." Sansa smiled. "I should go to my room and rest; perhaps you could send me something there?"

"Of course, my lady." He smiled. "I should also give you good news."

"Oh?" Sansa asked, looking to Podrick quickly.

"Someone sent the Queen Regent a dwarf who rather fits the description of your husband, found along the shores of the Eyrie. He has been rather elusive, many thinking they captured him, but slaughtering children instead. Lord Petyr thought perhaps you had accidentally hinted to the halfman that you were going to the Eyrie one day, and he knew where to look. He was coming after you, but some fishermen saw him along the decks and killed him. I am most certain it is the Imp. Your lord husband will haunt you no more, my lady." Harry's smile stretched across his face, his eyes brightening. But Sansa was no longer interested in admiring his fine features. Her stomach turned and she pulled Robb closely against her chest. "Are you feeling ill, my lady? I thought the news would cheer you."

"Oh, the news…cheers me." Sansa replied. "It is just a lot to take in. If you do not mind, ser, I am going to go to my room."

"Rest up, Lady Sansa. We will leave for White Harbor in two days' time." Harry placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. She brushed it off.

"Where is my room?"

"The last one down the hall on your left. I am sure young Podrick will lead you there."

"Yes, m'lady." Podrick was close to Sansa, his dark eyes watching Harry coldly. Sansa did not stay another moment, ascending the stairs to the rooms on the second floor. Podrick, her shadow.

She walked as quickly as her aching body would allow her to the room, pausing to turn to the young boy who was her constant guardian. "If you do not mind, Pod, I wish to have a couple moments to myself."

"As m'lady commands," Podrick bowed at his waist. "If I may speak?"

"Indeed, Pod," Sansa looked to her companion.

"I am sure m'lord is alive. Something tells me inside, that he is. Ser Jaime would not allow his brother to behave so recklessly as that."

"I am sure you are right, Pod." Sansa replied, her smile forced across her cheeks. "Good night, Pod."

"I will be right outside the door, should m'lady need me." Podrick said.

Sansa opened the door and entered the room. The setting sun was the only light on the small one person bed and the table next to it. Sansa felt her heart crumbling as she took a step toward the small one person bed along the farthest wall. She gently laid Robb on the mattress, turning from him to remove her cloak. She felt her muscles give way and her hand opened, permitting it fell to the floor. Sansa's body soon followed, her face falling into the fabric. She could not breathe; her mind was cluttered with Tyrion's face, his voice. Podrick had to be right; he was fine, wasn't he? She would find him in the future. But Jaime was also right; Tyrion was reckless and fool hardy, he loved her and lost his senses when it came to her. She clutched the lion's head ring in her hands, bringing it close to her mouth, fighting for control. She did not maintain composure for very long.

Robb's cries for need drowned out Sansa's wails for her lost husband.


	41. Bastards

The window of room Sansa had been provided at New Castle overlooked the sea, much as the room she had been given at King’s Landing. The air at White Harbor was colder; a winter’s nip was in the breezes which pushed at the gauzy curtains of her room. She had nestled Robb into the small crib which had been provided her by some servants at Wyman Manderly’s command. The fat lord had been more receptive to Brienne and Lady Randa’s requests than either had suspected, and so when Sansa was brought north to the castle, the young gallant Harry serving as her escort, she had been greeted with open arms.

Lord Wyman had explained that he was loyal to the end to the Stark family, the only family who had any right business dwelling in Winterfell in the North. Sansa had thanked him heartily, promising him that House Manderly would be richly provided for when she had taken back her home castle. Lord Wyman had grunted at her, waving his hand in a gesture of false modesty. She had meant every word of what she said.

The next item which Lord Wyman had asked her concerning was her wedding with Petyr Baelish. The lord had eyed her with his dark eyes, a frown on his face. Sansa had assured him that she was indeed intended for Lord Baelish, and that she would marry him without issue in White Harbor if he would allow such things. Lord Wyman had japed about recently attending a wedding which had done him more fleshly harm than he had expected, but if it was Lord Eddard’s daughter’s desire to be bound to such a shrew, what could he do to stop a Stark. Sansa had let out a sigh of relief that he was not going to deter her in the next motion of her plan. She only hoped that she could muster up the strength to do what needed to be done.

She did her best not to think about Tyrion. Podrick had whispered words of soothing confidence as he patted her shoulders assuredly, she was given to fits of random bursts of tears on their travel north at the thought. He assured her that Ser Jaime would know what had happened to his brother, would have surely known if he had died. But Sansa could not get the words of Harry out of her mind as the travel became colder and quieter. She wanted nothing more than to turn the sands of time to return to King’s Landing. How she wished she had included him in her plans, found some way to assure that both were safe. Perhaps if they had confided in The Viper they could have had safe passage to Dorne—sought a life of hiding there where Tyrion could keep a close watch on his niece.

 _Our niece_. She reminded herself as she looked over the lazily churning waters of the harbor. She wanted to remember Tyrion that way, if it were true that he was no longer wandering the earth looking for her. _He would be looking for me, high and low, my foolish lord husband, who grew to love me far too soon. And far too late._

The sound of water hitting taught fabric filled the silent room and Sansa realized she was shedding tears once more. She would need to steel herself once again, her armor pierced by the thought of her husband. She had to stay strong for Robb, if she had any hope of seeing him grow up safe and sound.

She turned her focus back to watching the grey-blue waters crashing against the white rocks of the shoreline; the noise was soothing like the lullabies her mother used to sing to her when she was little. She found her limbs relaxing, the beating of her heart slowing. Her eyelids grew heavy as she realized how exhausted she was from the guard she kept.

The sound of the door opening and boots on the stone floors startled her from her trance. She turned her head, looking first to the crib next to the bed she had been given, then to the intruder.

He had grown more tan in his travels; the hair at his temples was a bit more grey. His storm cloud eyes watched her as the slippery smile that had haunted her dreams slid across his face.

“My Sansa,” Petyr spoke as he stepped closer into the room. Sansa stood quickly, crossing her hands before her body. She looked to his dark riding boots instead of his eyes as he approached. “My beautiful bride.”

“Bride-to-be…” Sansa corrected him. Petyr paused in his steps for a heartbeat, the sound pounding in Sansa’s ears and covering the crashing of the waves, before letting out a hearty laugh. “And you are here sooner than I expected,” Sansa realized she sounded far too startled at his appearance and forced a smile across her tense lips. “The travels must have been light and the way easy for you to have come rushing to me so quickly.”

“Ah yes, bride to be. I cannot take you on those sheets as I wish to, after such a long ride.” his voice was airy and light and sickened Sansa’s stomach. “Not that you have any innocence left. I suppose that dwarf used you in every way possible. He was quite well known among the whores for his many….appetites.”

Sansa’s eyes flittered up to his eyes, she could feel the muscles around them tighten as she glared. “I am sure you have many appetites, my lord.”

“You will have to find out tomorrow, my lady.” Petyr looked proud of himself as he winked at her. “You will discover all my fine talents. Petyr shut the door behind him and stepped closer to her, his grey eyes surveying her body with a long glance down from her neck to the hem of her grey velvet dress which brushed the floor at her feet. “The travel was not difficult; it seems that Ser Jaime’s band of merry kingsman kept the roads more desolate and clear than they normally would. And why would anyone want to stop the man who was the king’s most trusted Master of Coin? I was nowhere near the fated wedding, dearest one, was I? I was not there to hear Cersei crying out for her evil little bastard child. Not the wretched little dwarf who killed his nephew. All those memories, Sansa, must haunt you in the darkest of night. But do not worry, once we are pronounced man and wife tomorrow before the septon, I will help you forget that half man’s embrace, have you crying for _me,_ Sansa, the way you have never cried before.”

“I think it will be you who is crying, my lord,” Sansa replied.

“Ah, I see our perverted demon monkey has trained you to be the vixen,” Petyr turned his head to the crib where Robb was making small chirping sounds of waking. “And of course left his spawn on the earth.”

“He is my son, too,” Sansa took a step toward the crib.

“And he will be my bastard son, do not worry. I intend to treat him as I would any bastard,” Petyr looked to Sansa once again. “And I treated you well.”

“I do not consider myself a genuine example of bastard stock,” Sansa replied.

“And our many sons and daughters, as beautiful as you, will attest that no one would believe you are a bastard born.” Petyr smiled. “Speaking of bastards and parentages, I know that young Harry found you in your travels.”

“He did, my lord.” Sansa answered sterily. She walked toward the crib, Petyr’s glances toward her sleeping babe making her uncomfortable with his presence. “He is a nice man, he means well.”

“I am sure you are heartbroken you are not marrying him now,” Petyr replied, his eyes examining her face. He was looking for any chance that his words struck a chord of truth. _You would kill him, wouldn’t you, you cunning mockingbird. You would feed him the poisoned berry as you helped feed Joffrey, as you helped feed Sweetrobin. I was always told that poison was a woman’s weapon. Have you also mastered the graces of needlework and hair braiding?_ Sansa smiled wickedly at Petyr for a heartbeat, before distracting his attention again.

“I thought you wanted me to marry him at the beginning and it was my idea—“

“It was never your idea to marry me, Sansa. It was your necessity; since you let that husband of yours fill your belly with a child. You made it very hard for me to convince Lady Waynwood to give me her prized grandson. Does Lord Manderly know about your young son?”

“He does, Lady Myranda and Lady Brienne told him before I came. He is not the bastard you think he is, Lord Petyr, though his father is no longer with me. And he sees my son as a way to ransom back his son, which I see as an equal trade; I will use whatever power I can to get back Lord Wylen with as little violence as possible.”

“You know that Tyrion Lannister is as dead as his father is, Sansa. Do not hold out any hope for your husband to gallantly rescue you from this arrangement. And do not think you are going to win armies by feigning peace and nonviolence. You are provoking wars, woman. Blood and violence run rampant and breed in those conditions.”

“Why would I wish for my husband to come back, then? Would not the bloodshed and violence be worse? Would I not be hindering my cause?” Sansa asked, looking down into Robb’s waking face.

“I can see it in your eyes, Sansa, you’re unable to lie to me. I know you do not truly want this matrimony, but you have given your word. And I intend for you to keep it.” Sansa shuddered at Lord Petyr’s voice, feeling dirty and raped by the words he spit her way. “You have not been rescued by knights, Sansa. You have been saved by a mockingbird and a wilting rose. Do not think that your little lord husband is going to return to liberate you.”

“I expect no such thing.” Sansa returned Robb to his crib as the boy’s eyes fell closed once more. “I know that Lord Tyrion is most like not to return to me again. The Queen Regent has sent out all sorts of men to find the dwarf and destroy him.” Sansa looked down at Robb before vomiting up her next lie, trying to remain placid. “I care more about what I can get with his name than I can get with his presence. With young Robb I can lay claim to Casterly Rock. His name can win me treaties, I have one of his blood in my arms, from my loins.”

“Do you think that Lord Tywin would have given his shamed son the castle, the claims? If he even were recognized enough by his father to inherit them himself.” Petyr laughed.

“I know that Cersei will not inherit it, and I know that Jamie cannot. With Lord Tywin dead it would naturally fall to Tyrion and then to my son.” She turned fully to look at him. “More lands to extract money from and fund our armies.”

“ _Our_ armies?” Petyr’s eyebrows rose as he looked at her. Sansa smiled, forcing the bile rising in her throat back to her stomach.

“I am marrying you, am I not? One flesh? That would make it _our_ armies, as it will become our kingdom.”

“You speak such magnificent words, my lady, you make my mouth water with the ideas.” Petyr smiled.

“I was not sure what would entice you more; power or my mother’s looks.” Sansa replied, looking him dead in the eye. Petyr’s smile quickly melted.

“You think you know how to play this game, Sansa, do you?” Petyr strode toward her, grabbing her arm. “Sweet talking me and making me think you have me wrapped about your finger. I know what you are playing at, girl. You think that having the halfman’s bastard baby will earn you allies, you think that playing me will help you connections. Do not be fooled, Sansa Stark. You are going to become mine. You will say your vows tomorrow as you promised. You will have fun at your wedding, you will sing and laugh and dance. You will be granted all the happiness and joy which the Lannisters had taken from you by marrying you to that little wretch of a lord they have. I will give that to you Sansa. And then you will come up here with me and you will either give yourself to me or you will find my strength overpowering. I suggest that you give it to me, Sansa, as I have been so very nice to you. I have protected and cared for you, made sure you were happy and whole. You owe me that, Sansa. And you owe me my own child in your belly.”

Sansa trembled as his hand squeezed tighter around her arm. “You are hurting me!”

The back of Lord Petyr’s hand across her cheek silenced her. “You will hurt much more if you think you are going to out-snake me. You are merely a pawn, Sansa. You will never know how to play this game. Trust in me, the master, and you will find that you’ll make it out alive.”

“And you win,” Sansa spoke up, no longer afraid of Petyr and his threats. _Nothing more than threats. If he loses me, he loses my mother._ “You have my mother and her beauty and you have that crown upon your head and that bloody iron throne beneath your arse.” Her words were metal, her tongue hitting hard against her teeth as she seethed at him. He thought she knew her moves, but she knew his so much the better. His hand was always far too tipped.

“Sansa, you should know better than to play with fire, do not poke at mine.” His grip was vice around her wrist and tears were gathering at the smarting pain. “And if you think that Tyrion Lannister’s bastard is going to live much longer in this world, you are sorely mistaken. Welcome to marriage to a new man, Sansa. This means that your past is gone. Robb is going to do little good. He will cause divisions and strife, not unification. We will have Casterly Rock, my lady. But we will have it by cunning and force, not the blood of a Lannister.”

“You will not _touch_ my son,” Sansa hissed, she pulled against the hand which held her. And she understood what Tyrion had meant about her mother protecting her pups with the ferocity of a direwolf bitch.

“I will do as I like with _my_ son,” Petyr replied. “And if feeding him to the waves as his father should have been, than that is my decision.”

“You are a monster.”

“I am a king to be,” Petyr replied. “I am cunning and smart, I am powerful and worthy. I should have become something, and with you I can. And you will be my magnificent and beautiful queen, Sansa. The queen that Joffrey should have had enough smarts to keep if he had any wits beyond his incestuously formed one. Together you and I will restore the north. We will take control of the Iron Throne and rule like no man and wife before. We will remind the kingdom who is the one in charge. We will have powerful armies and we will have riches galore. I can give you everything Sansa, but only if you listen to me.” Sansa glared up at him with burning blue eyes. “And I can starve you until you agree with me. There are subtle ways to break people, and I do not wish to break you, my love, but you must see that I am right. That I am doing all of this because I love you.”

“You are right, my lord. My mind is all twisted and confused. I know better, and this is my chance to make it right.” She blinked away her hardness as she looked up at him. Petyr smiled back down at her.

“That is a good girl, Sansa. Now come and give your intended a kiss.” He pulled her toward him, forcing his mouth down upon her lips. Sansa wanted to wrap her hands around his throat in his unguarded action, but she settled instead to wrapping her arms about his neck. “Be a good wife, Sansa. Let me give you a child to love and to hold; one to help you forget the one that monster left you with.”

“Of course,” Sansa smiled. “How could I even live with such a memory of that man?” She blinked her blue eyes several more times, forcing herself to look into his grey ones. That burning hunger was there, the hunger that pressed against her between his legs as he held her tight. She was not sure if he was aroused by her presence or the thought of power, but both made Sansa want to wretch with disgust.

“I knew you would come around, Sansa. You are a smart girl; a woman who is meant to rule.” He put his arms on her shoulders, pushing her away to look her straight into her eyes. His grey ones showed his ignorant trust in her. “Now you should be resting. We have a full day for tomorrow, the wedding is bound to be exhausting and you will want to be wide awake and fresh for the bedding ceremony—and a proper bedding ceremony. We will do not such modesty as your previous bondage insisted.”

“Yes, my lord,” Sansa smiled warmly. “I should get to bed.”

“Until tomorrow, my bride.” Petyr leaned forward and placed a kiss in the crook of Sansa’s neck, reaching around to grab hold of her backside and gave it a squeeze. Sansa groaned in mock pleasure and watched Petyr straighten, then turned to leave. He looked back at her once more with a smile across his scruffy face.

When he left the room Sansa collapsed on her bed. She felt under the pillow for the sheath she had hidden there. Only Podrick knew of the item’s placement, and he was fully aware of her need for it to stay secret.

She grabbed hold of the handle and clutched the knife to her bosom, her eyes closing as she prayed to the Warrior that she could show she was cut from the same mold as Arya, that she could do what was needed of her. Both Robb and Tyrion depended upon her, and she could not fail them. And she could not fail herself.

 


	42. Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Look at me getting my shit together and being on top of things for once. Okay, super exciting chapters ahead. I do need to let you know about some trigger warnings in this: TW: gore, violence, violence against women, and attempted rape. No actual rape, and I did my best to be really sensitive regarding the subject, but I just wanted to let my readership be advised about that!
> 
> Okay without further ado! -Lydia

Sansa told herself to breath as she took her first step forward down the stairs of the sept of White Harbor. She was adorned this wedding in a more muted gown of grey and white, quickly provided by a seamstress in the city at the command of the Manderlys and the purse of Petyr Baelish. It was not as elegant as her red and gold gown given to her on the day which she wed Tyrion, but it was a gown nonetheless and she was more happy to be clad from head to toe as the coming winds of winter chilled the harbor city and filled the sept with damp cold. The seamstress had been kind and provided the dress with sleeves to her wrists, mindful of the biting cold that was invading the north.

Sansa gripped at her sleeve and focused on placing one foot ahead of the other, clutching the arm of Harry next to her; he had agreed to walk her up to the side of Lord Petyr, where she would say her vows and then be wed to him until death do they part. She found that the muscle he had earned from training with heavy weapons on horseback for the show of tourney was comforting and soothing. She was certain he would not drop her as she felt her legs turn to water.

She wished, regardless of the strong arms she held beneath, that it was Podrick who was escorting her down the aisle, reminding her that this marriage would be a false one from its conception, her true and right husband still alive and gallantly looking for her like the tales of knights she had been fed since she was young.

While Podrick was certainly of noble class he was no lord like Harry was. Even Harry was not aware of the higher class of status he had inherited in the form of the Eyrie. Petyr had somehow deceived the boy into believing that the lands now belonged to the banner bearing the mockingbird because of some papers which Sweetrobin had signed and Lord Petyr had conveniently left in the castle. But the lord assured he would be able to provide the proof once he and his new bride were settled back in the Eyrie when the winter was over and the mountain was safe once more to climb.

The mewing of a baby could be heard amongst the silence of Sansa and Harry ascending the aisle; Lady Myranda was Robb’s caretaker for the ceremony; Sansa was much too mistrustful to allow the baby to be given a septa she had not personally approved of. She had even been offered a wet-nurse, but Sansa had opted to feed her own baby from her breast, wanting the child to stay in her sight. The list of trusted people entailed only Podrick and Myranda, both of whom would be on guard for and serving the little lord tonight.

Sansa pushed the distracting information from her mind. It was her wedding day, and one she was instructed to enjoy to the fullest. She would be able to drink and eat as she wanted, she would be able to dance with her lord husband who was her height. It would be a merry time of feasting and celebrating and eating. Since the massive Lord Wyman knew nothing more than eating.

Sansa tried to wrap herself in the plans of feasting and dancing; she had loved dancing when she lived in Winterfell, always dreaming of herself twirling about with her handsome groom on the night of the wedding, lost in the rapture of love and lust. Her first marriage proved very short of love and only slightly of lust, on Tyrion’s account of wanting her badly. And this marriage was certain to have the misguided lust and the false love. But Sansa was again marrying someone she had no intention of wanting to bed. Yet this one was much stronger and would take his will upon her.

_I should have given Tyrion the credit when he let me remain a maiden, untouched and unbothered on the night of our wedding. He had been so kind to me, and I only know it now that I stand amongst false friends._

“You look rather pale, my lady, are you sure you are going to make it all the way to the end, as well as be able to stand?” Harry murmured in her ear.

“I am certain I will be fine.” Sansa replied, forcing her fingers to loosen, her nails retracting from the knight’s arm.

“Marriage to Lord Petyr will be much more grand; he is bound to treat you well, being a man of older years and good money. Lady Lysa loved him dearly, that much can be said in good faith,” Harry offered. Once again Sansa found his words far from comforting.

This walk to her intended lord husband was longer than the one to her actual husband; she thought she would never make it to stand before the dark featured man whose grey eyes raped her at the alter as she stood before the holy man. _I should have just come naked, he would have preferred it that way. He would have insisted on taking me right there on the alter, for the crowd to surely see that I was his because he put his cock in me._  

The septon had begun the speaking of vows as Sansa slipped into thought. It was Lord Petyr who pulled back into the sept as he grabbed her shoulder, turning her round so that he could lay his newly made cloak of grey and green on her shoulders, turning her once more to grab her hand. The smile snaked across his stubbled face as he looked at her. Sansa shuddered even with the added warmth of the wife’s cloak about her shoulders.

The septon was quick to recite all the binding promises and acknowledgements in marriage and Sansa’s mind had numbed to them. She did not remember agreeing to aid her intended husband in whatever needs he had, and she certainly could not recall when he had promised the same to her. But their hands were brought together atop the septon’s and he blessed them.

Petyr turned to Sansa and kissed her roughly, his arms flying about her body and nearly disrobing her from the cloak. She struggled under the forceful grip, reminded of that fateful kiss in the garden of the Eyrie, the one which had angered her Aunt Lysa and caused the another murder of a being in front of Sansa’s eyes.

Lord Baelish took her hand and led her to the front of the sept to receive all the congratulations which were adorned by the invited lords, ladies, and knights who presided in White Harbor, although very few lived in the prosperous city, most of its inhabitants were merchants, fisherman, and laborers. But even with the shortened line, and especially one shorter than at the Royal Wedding, it was still far too many people whom Sansa had to endure.

Lady Myranda and Podrick brought up the end of the line of well wishers, and it was Randa’s hug which stirred Sansa out of her emotionless movements. She had become the puppet for the afternoon, doing all that was expected of her and remembering little.

But Randa’s arms around her shoulders, the rough kiss of her lips on Sansa’s paled cheek, and the press of her newborn son between their bodies stirred Sansa to tears. They ran down her cheeks silently, and Lady Myranda quickly raised her hand to Sansa’s face, wiping away the tears.

“It is so beautiful to see a bride shed tears of happiness on her wedding day,” Randa offered Sansa the ability to cry without raising suspicions. “And you should be more delighted to know that Lord Wyman is granting us the use of the armies he has left after his return from the North country to visit the Boltons. Several more Houses in the north have promised their swords to your name, thanks to the courage and representation of Lady Brienne who has sought help in some of the surrounding villages and towns.”

“I do hope she has been careful,” Sansa replied, leaning over to kiss Robb’s head, smoothing down the small tufts of copper hair that were disrupted by her display of affection. “I would not want to see one of my best knights injured before any true fighting has been done in my…in _our_ name.” She glanced over to Petyr with her eyes, and Myranda nodded her head in understanding.

“You best be careful as well, my lady, to be sure that Lord Petyr does not tire you out. It is said that he had a great appetite when he was married to Lady Lysa, the gods bless her and keep her.” Myranda looked to Petyr as she spoke. “And well wishes to you and the wonderful wife of whom you have wooed. Sansa is a good woman, and she will do you well.”

“I have no doubt of that.” Petry nodded his head. “Are you in charge of that young one tonight?”

“Who, little Lord Robert? I am; I would not want the newborn to interrupt you as the two of you begin to know one another tonight.”

“You are wise, just like your father, Lady Randa.”

“I knew you would say something like that, Lord Baelish. And I take the compliment with relish and joy. They come so few and far between when you get old as I have. I supposed Robb is the closest I will come to having a young one of my own. I best enjoy it while I can.” Myranda held the boy tight to her bosom, and eyed Petyr warily.

“Lady Sansa,” Podrick intervened before further could be said, and Myranda took the interruption as her escape.

“Ser Podrick, how I owe you so much for bringing me here in safety. This wedding day is all because of you,” Sansa wrapped her arms around his shoulders, bringing her lips close to his ear. “Have you been able to place it?” Sansa whispered.

“Yes, m’lady.” Podrick murmured back. “You are in safe hands now.”

She turned her head to place a rough kiss on his cheek. “I hope you will take part in the heady revelry and pleasantries for tonight. See it as a thank you for allowing Lord Petyr to receive me as safely and soundly as I left him.”

“And a little less round from the last time,” Petry added. Sansa looked over to him, a smile of joy plastered over the queasy feeling burning the lining of her stomach.

“That as well.” Sansa replied, reaching out to squeeze the boy’s hand. “I feel like there is so much more I am to owe you in the future, Podrick. This night is only the beginning of my gratitude.”

“The way my wife speaks is almost as if you’ll be the one enjoying the bedding ceremony tonight,” Sansa’s husband grabbed hold of her elbow.

“I see Podrick as a brother, and I am no Lannister, remember that my love.” Sansa forced herself to kiss Petyr on the lips to assure him that he would be the male stripped of his breeches for the wedding night. “You have naught to fear that Podrick will be enjoying my embrace.”

“He does finish the line of guests, perhaps he should escort us to the castle to celebrate and drink until we can barely see straight.” Petry offered.

“As long as you do not revisit the drink on me tonight, my lord, I do hope that the celebration we have is as grand as royal one.” Sansa replied. Podrick looked over at her, his dark eyes wide with surprise. “But of course, let it be a wedding blessed and spared from the cursed ones which seem to be gracing our land.”

“The gods have been good to you both, “Harry surprised the two as he came up from behind. He reached out and took Sansa’s hand, kissing it quickly before shooting her a smile. “I am sure that the ceremonies will see no blood and more life.”

“I will toast to that when a drink has been given to me,” Lord Petyr smiled at the man, but Sansa saw the tightness around his lips. He was not impressed by Harry’s gallant show of chivalry. The knight did not notice the lord’s annoyance and Sansa winced at the thought of what Petyr might do to him after the wedding. _There you go again, Sansa, always thinking of impossible afters._

“Let us be on our way, then, before the men drink of the good wine and leave none for us.” Harry smiled, clapping Petyr on the shoulder.

“Yes, let us be on our way.” Sansa agreed, grabbing hold of Lord Petyr’s arm and nudging him forward toward the procession which was making its way to the New Castle for the food and drink.

 

* * *

 

“Twenty courses are certainly abundant for such a quickly planned wedding,” Sansa spoke to Petyr as they sat at the head table.

“Lord Wyman loved the Starks dearly; he owes them a great debt for entrusting White Harbor to the Manderlys. I am sure he is not doing this in my favor, my beautiful wife, but for your family’s sake. Just as he will return to the Bolton’s keep and reclaim it for you.”

“All this talk of war and bloodshed on the day of our wedding does not make for good omens. I do not wish to have a red or a purple wedding. Let it be a wedding of Arbor Gold and roasted pheasant.”

“There is less pheasant on this table and more fish I am afraid, my lady.” Petyr chuckled as he looked at her, his hand slipped up the side of her thigh squeezing near the fatty top. Sansa jumped slightly.

“Enough of all this idle talk, come, let us dance. I did not dance with my husband at my first wedding. Please come and grace me with your arms about me at this one.”

“Whatever will please my lady will please me,” Lord Petyr stood. “My lady and I intend to dance, I am sure the competent musicians who grace our presence would oblige us with an appropriate tune.”

“How about _The Bear and the Maiden Fair_ , for you are the beast are you not?” One of Petyr’s friends shouted from the crowd, causing several others to laugh. Petyr himself genuinely smiled. Sansa stiffened and shook her head.

“No, please!” She cried out, sinking back into her chair, shaking her head and brushing away her auburn hair from her shoulders. “That was sung nearly as much as _The Rains of Castermere_ at the royal wedding; please do not make me suffer with another rendition. Play me something lively and sweet, _The Princess and the Knight of White_.”

“As my lady commands, so it shall be done.” Petyr’s voice boomed above the crowd. He then turned to Sansa and held out his hand before her. “Come, my lady, let me lead you to the floor so we may dance and laugh.”

“As my lord commands,” Sansa replied, placing her hand gingerly in his and rising to her feet, pulling her skirts out of the way so she could maneuver around the chair and down the platform.

The harps had already begun and the bard was singing sweetly when Lord Petyr took Sansa into his grasp. His left hand enveloped hers gently and his right arm wrapped around her back. He began to move her about the dance floor, a competent partner for Sansa who had forgotten many of the steps of the popular dance. Tyrion had proved to be a good husband, but she had never danced with him; she was assured that nothing would humiliate him more than to suggest such a celebration.

“You are a good dancer, my lord.” Sansa said as Petyr gracefully twirled her about the dance floor. She was ashamed to admit that he had charmed her into seeing nothing more than his face before her and their feet below her. Pressed against his body, she could feel him chuckle as he took the compliment.

“You were not expecting a man of lower birth such as myself to be versed in dancing like this, I am sure. It was your mother, if I were to tell you true, who taught me to dance. Though it was your Aunt Lysa who would practice it alone with me.”

“My mother was a very graceful dancer,” Sansa admitted. “I remember her at festivals with my father, when I was just old enough to stay for the feasting. He was clumsy and ill gaited, but my mother with her charm and sure footing would make him look a proficient and sure leader of the dance upon the floor.”

“I am sure that Ned Stark lacked any graceful bone in that Northern body of his.” It was the wrong memory to bring up at the time, Lord Petyr’s body was tightening against hers as she spoke fondly of her father.

“I recite this memory in hopes that I am as graceful as my mother; no less should be given to such a talented partner.”

“Worry not, Sansa, I will teach you how to dance every type of step there is.” Petyr’s hand around her back tightened against him. “You will become proficient in every type of movement man has invented.”

“I am glad to have such a patient teacher.” Sansa looked up into his grey eyes.

“The two are near fucking in their dance before us; it is past time for the bedding ceremony!” One of the men in the crowd cried.

Petyr chuckled awkwardly as he released Sansa. She felt her cheeks burn red as she realized she would not be spared this time around of the humiliation of being stripped for the pleasure of the men and for her husband. Carried like a sacrifice to the bed of Lord Petyr who already thought himself a god. There was no chance he would call off such humiliation; a god demanded lambs and she was the perfect one.

“Aye, let them dance together in the sheets where they long to be!” Another joined in the chorus.

The crowd descended upon Sansa and Petyr, Petyr beginning to laugh as he was taken up by the ladies. Sansa felt the rough and muscled hands of men wrap about her waist and legs, hoisting her into the air. One ripped at her bodice, tearing it.

“Wait, my lord, I wish for one more goblet of wine before we go,” Sansa cried, longing to delay her sacrifice. “So I shall not be too nervous.”

“Very well,” Petyr responded. “Ladies, bring me ahead of my wife, and let her down her cup so she will be ready for me.”

The men let Sansa down and she returned to the head table, taking hold of the decanter and pouring herself a modest cup. She then took the filled cup in hand and began to drink, placing it down and purposefully missing the table.

“By the gods!” Sansa shouted in frustration.

“Let me held m’lady,” Podrick rushed forward, squatting down to help retrieve the cup.

“Oh, Podrick, I must help. I am the fool who has spilled the wine on my wedding night.” Sansa replied. She dropped to her knees, searching for the cup. The reminders of her husband looking for Joffrey’s filled her mind and she tried to use them as fodder for the fire of hatred she was nursing in her belly. “I cannot do this, Pod. I cannot.”

“You can, m’lady. How else are you to be free of him?” Podrick’s steady brown eyes looked into Sansa’s. He reached out and placed his hand on hers. Sansa sniffed back the tears.

“I will do my best.” She nodded her head, sinking back on her haunches.

“I think I have it, m’lady.” Podrick replied, leaning towards her.

“Thank you, again, Podrick, for making up for my lack. I must be off before my jealous lord husband thinks I am to bed you and not he.” She replied.

The men behind her shouted in excitement and pulled her back into their arms. One took her shoe from her right foot and tossed it across the room. He took hold of the arch and kissed her foot, pinching the toes and kneading the sole.

As the men below her pulled at her clothing, exposing her little by little to the world, Sansa was glad for the modesty which Tyrion had provided; granted it was to save them both from true humiliation of being stripped bare with nothing to give, but nonetheless she could not help but be grateful for his sacrifice to his own image. He had taken the shame of not bedding his wife for her, a brave act for such a little man.

While the men pulled and ripped her clothing, one stocking off, her belt removed from her shoulders, Sansa tried her best to steel her courage. She had to think of Robb if not anything else. Petyr had threatened his life, and there was little he could do to defend it.

Sansa appeared at the door of the bed chamber where the woman stood about waiting her arrival clad in a very tattered, but still intact shift. She shivered in the damp coldness of the castle, pressing her arms against her erect nipples. She was glad to have hidden away to nurse Robb during the evening, it would have been much worse with aching full breasts for Petyr to molest.

“I see my men have not be very good at completely disrobing you, my little bird, but I suppose I shall have to enjoy that myself.” Petyr smiled from the bed he lounged on, examining her as she entered the room.

Unlike Sansa, Lord Petyr had been fully disrobed. Underneath his clothes he proved to be a skinny man, his age showed more on his body than his face. His skin was wrinkled and he had a small roll of fat between his ribcage and his loins that appeared as he leaned over to look at her. The hair on his chest was more grey than that at his temples. What drew Sansa’s attention more, causing her heart to leap into her throat and mute her, was his arousal. He was unashamed to display his erection before her, red and purple with the need of her woman’s parts. He touched it when he caught her looking, smiling.

“Do not be frightened by a true man’s cock, my lady.” He smiled. “I am sure your demon monkey had such a tiny manhood. But I will not hurt you; I am a gentle and good lover. And with my talents and my normal man’s cock, you’ll be screaming like Lysa. Come to me and let me show you.” He held out his hand.

Sansa walked toward him and then falsed a stumble, tumbling to her knees. She fell toward the bed, causing Lord Petyr to jump to his feet and bend over to help her. Sansa stuck her hand out between the mattresses, faking using them as leverage, but grasping the handle of a knife instead, positioning it closer toward the cleft of the two downy pads.

“Come, let me look at you,” Petyr said, standing before her. He continued to pet his manhood as he looked down upon her. “Let me see those young tits.”

Sansa found her limbs frozen as she stared at him in shock, her breaths shallow and unable to get the air her lungs wanted. Petyr moved for her, his arms quickly coming to her sides and standing her to her feet. Petyr came toward her and kissed the curve of her neck slowly, his tongue sticking out to eventually wet the line of bone atop her shoulders with his spittle. He then kissed her chin, his tongue licking up from the curve of her jaw to her temples. She shuddered at the sickening feeling. He then ripped her garment from her, leaving her shivering in the night.

“You are so beautiful, Cat,” he murmured, stepping forward and grabbing hold of her breasts. Sansa jumped backwards at the caress.

“I am Sansa, not Cat,” she said.

“Yes, Sansa,” Petyr reached for her again. “Let me kiss you and fuck you until you call my name like your sister.”

Sansa found that she would rather pull away, and she did so, stepping back toward the bed. “No,”

“Come, there is no need to refuse me now.” He came toward her. “I will fuck you one way or another. You will not deny me this time. You have given me a dance before, a kiss, but you promised so much more with your eyes. I know you want me, Cat, I know you have always wanted me. I just need to prove it to you.”

Sansa panicked, stepping backward once more only for the backs of her thighs to hit the bed. She gasped as Petyr strode forward and had her by her neck, pushing her onto the bed. “I told you, do not fight me. You will be calling my name like Lysa. I will take you softly and then I will fuck you hard, and you will forget you had a name. You will forget that you rejected me.”

“Stop it!” Sansa cried as he came toward her.

“Hush,” Petyr reached down, placing one hand on her thigh and wrenching it open, away from the other. She struggled, her hands flying to the side of the bed, wishing she had pulled the blade from its sheath and placed it beneath the covers. She had meant for him to use her before she killed him; meant for him to be taken in that sleep that came when men filled women with their seed. At least it was a sleep which had overtaken Tyrion on multiple nights. But Sansa could not allow him to rape her. She could not allow that bond she had begun to share with Tyrion become tainted by this man’s sick obsession with her mother. With his sick obsession of power and a need to pay back for past rejection. She could not share her body with him.

The thought of her husband gave her strength to pull her body closer to the edge. Petyr still had his lock on her and was positioning himself over her; while he was a thumb’s length shorter than she, he was surprisingly stronger. He was about to take her, to enter her and consummate their marriage, when Sansa grabbed hold of the handle of the knife. He had hold of her neck, but her arms were free enough for her to swing her forearm at the elbow and drive the blade of the knife into the joint near his shoulder. Petyr screamed and let go of her, Sansa held to the knife tightly and she felt it rip skin and muscle as he jerked away.

“What the hell are you doing? We were meant for one another. When I fuck you, you will know.” Petyr’s grey eyes were filled with fire as he came at her. Sansa held the knife at an angle, crouched on the bed.

“Your cock will be nowhere near me tonight, as it was nowhere near my mother’s. I am glad she teased you until you cried, you horrible, horrible bastard!” Sansa felt the tears flowing down her cheeks.

“What are you doing, Sansa Stark?” Petyr cried.

“What should have been done long ago!”

She leapt at him, grabbing hold of his injured arm. He roared and he in turn grabbed hold of her, forcing her on the bed. She kicked and writhed under his grasp, sending her knee into his softening manhood. His elbow flew into her nose and she could feel the blood pour out of it. She let out a cry of pain, her left hand coming up to assess the damage. He had not broken it, but she had given up the leverage she had gained in kicking him in his cock. He groaned with exertion as his grip tightened on her neck, pushing her into the mattress. Sansa’s focus was on keeping her arms free now, so she moved her hand with the blade under his body, stabbing upwards with all her might into his soft, wrinkly belly. Petyr moaned as he recoiled, pulling away from the knife. Sansa could feel her skin grow sticky and wet, but she could not look down to see what had covered her hips and belly.

Sansa took the moment to overpower him, pushing him backwards on the bed before her and straddling his midsection. She looked down to see blood covering her as she sat atop his belly, nothing between his skin and her woman’s parts. She felt sick as she could feel him underneath her, an intrusion she did not want, but had to force herself to have if she wanted to end this.

“This is as close as you will ever get to having me,” Sansa warned. “And you will die knowing that. You will die at the hands of woman with a man’s blade deep in your wounds. You will suffer for my husband, the man you had falsely accused. You will suffer for my mother, the woman you wanted to rape and to take all for your own. You will suffer for my son, whom you wanted to end. And mostly you will suffer for my father, whose own head I had to watch separate from his body because of your lying tongue!” Sansa cried.

“You…will…be….caught,” Petyr’s laugh gurgled with blood as he looked up at her. Sansa smiled.

“You would love to know that I failed the game, moved the wrong pieces. But you have become my pawn, Lord Baelish. You moved your queen too quickly,” Sansa watched him cough more blood, could feel his stomach wound oozing on her bare buttocks which settled near the puncture. “And you kept another queen far too close. But most of all, you forgot how much people hate a lying, gutless snake like you. They saw you clamp your fangs into me and tear my wings apart. They see you have ruined me.”

“The Imp…is the one…” Petyr coughed.

“Do not even let my husband’s name cross your lips.” She seethed, spitting in his face. “I hope the gods punish you for the lies and the murders you have on your hands, Petyr Baelish. I will be glad to suffer for yours.” She leaned forward and placed the blade against his neck. “My mother and my father were both taken by their necks, I think it is only just you are removed from this game by yours.” She pushed with all her might on the handle as she slid the blade across the white skin of his neck, blood seeping as she drew the morbid line.

Petyr cried out, gurgling more, and then he shook. His body grew rigid beneath her before quieting. She looked down at him, his grey eyes still open, but no longer hungry. They were vacant and haunting. Sansa could feel herself slipping, but she had to make sure she would not suffer in this game because of this move. She took the moment to take the dagger and drive it into her shoulder, crying at the self-inflicted wound.

She pulled the blade from her skin as she heard footsteps coming toward the room. Men burst in first, stopping when they took in the sight of the girl, covered only in her blood and the blood of the man before her.

“Lady Sansa?” One of the men cried out.

“He…he stabbed me,” Sansa cried, dropping the knife onto his chest. It was Podrick who came to her side, wrapping his cloak about her bare and blood streaked body.

“She has been stabbed in the shoulder, someone get a maester!” The boy cried.

“He told me he wanted me dead, that he would have Winterfell now, that he would use my name to inherit it.” Sansa wept, her body becoming cold and rigid. The words she spoke where lies, but the face of the dead man before her was making her tummy nauseous and she wanted out of the room as quickly as Podrick could remove her. “And then he told me he was going to kill my baby boy. He was going to drown Robert in the harbor and say he was stolen. After her smothered me,”

“Lord Baelish did this to you?” It was Harry who entered next. “Did he stab or smother?”

“M’lady is in shock, please let us get her to a maester. She needs to be cared for.” Podrick tired to push the handsome boy away.

“What happened? I do not understand; Lord Baelish wanted nothing more than you.” Harry dogged Podrick and Sansa down the hall.

“Does it not surprise you that Lord Petyr would try to kill for rights, Harry?” Lady Myranda joined the throng next. “He killed Sweetrobin for that.”

“That was not proven,” Harry insisted.

“He did,” Sansa cried. “He tried to smother me with a pillow, but I was able to kick him and get away. And then he stabbed me. He was so _very_ angry. I do not believe he was in his right mind at that point. I wrestled him for the knife, and then I stabbed him in the arm to let me go, but then he kept grabbing me so I stabbed him again. I slit his throat because he kept writhing and trying to grab me and I thought he was going to kill me too and I was so afraid. I did not want to leave my son alone; I could not leave him motherless and fatherless all in the same day.”

“Shush, now, Sansa,” Myranda came to her side, Robb in her arms. “Your son is safe, see? And Podrick has you all wrapped up. He is going to take you to the maester and he is going to make sure you are taken care of so that you can return to your son. You did well, Sansa Stark.” She smiled at her. “As for you lot,” she turned to the men. “I think you all should go to your beds. My brother can take care of the rest, the body of that horrid bastard and the bloody bed, and Lady Brienne is here as well, arriving as you lot eagerly awaited the cries of ecstasy from a scared girl.” Randa was doing her best to shame them.

The men slunk off as Ser Albar came down the hall with Lady Brienne several footfalls behind.

“Do not lose heart, Sansa. You are not the first woman whose husband died in the midst of the act. Nor the first to have a death at your wedding. I think there should be a great line forming for those who are victim to that.” Myranda japed as she followed Podrick and Sansa. Sansa smiled halfheartedly at the woman’s attempt to cheer her up, but it was more for show than genuine. Her head was spinning and her body was shivering with cold.

When the three were far from listening ears, Podrick leaned in closely to Sansa. “You did well, m’lady.”

“As well as one could expect for a murderer,” Myranda murmured with a smile. “Though you did take the injury to yourself quite seriously.”

“I want there to be no question about what has happened; I had accidentally caused the death of one man because I cared the weapon, now let me wield it with full knowledge toward this one.”

“There is one less man to sit his arse upon that fucking Iron Throne,” Myranda replied. “Now let us go and repair you so that we can return you to the one of ice and rock in the Northern territories. I am sure you will have won more allies having killed Lord Petyr Baelish, the snake between your legs.”

“I feel as if I am to be sick.” Sansa replied.

And she was, all over Podrick’s shoes.


	43. Captive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monday is pretty close to Tuesday...plus I mean, Mondays are lame, so maybe this will make your monday less lame. So let's pretend it's a Tuesday, because I've been dying to get this out. :) Happy Pseudo Tuesday everyone!

Tyrion pulled at the ropes which bound his wrists together at the front of his body. Jorah was beside him, bound in the same way, the two following a group of riders dressed in House Flint's blue and yellow. The men did not speak to the half-man and his companion when they seized the pair on the docks of Widow's Watch; a port which was supposed to be free from any alliances and troops who would take captive Tyrion. _Of course I was fed nothing more than shit once again_.

Jorah and Tyrion had arrived on a ship several days beforehand; the passage that would take them north of King's Landing and closer to the Eyrie and where Sansa had last been seen was hard to come by as it was easier to sail into the ports of the royal city. It was Jorah who had found the fishermen who preferred the more hardy fish of the north and who would agree to give them passage in exchange for labor. The Bear had agreed and subjected Tyrion to two months of seasickness and scrubbing the decks—usually after he was sick all over them. It was the thought of Sansa's beautiful face and the soothing thought of her presence that kept him going, a face he reminded himself of every night.

When he set foot on the wood piers of Widow's Watch, he could feel that he was closer; she was nearer to him and the prospect stirred his heart. He had wanted to go to the nearest livery to procure a horse and be out to find his wife among the castles and lords all wound up for war. Jorah had remained the level headed leader in this respect; he warned Tyrion that running out into the open as a dwarf would only lead to suspicions, and Cersei had most like not ceased the command for her brother's head. The two would need to lie low, listen for word of where Littlefinger may be, or an inkling of what sort of trouble might stir his interest.

All Tyrion had been able to collect in the few hours he and Jorah sat at a bench at the back of a pub was that there had been trouble at Winterfell and the castle was in worse ruins. Ramsey Snow, now officially regarded as a Bolton, had married Arya Stark and raped and beat her viciously. The young girl had escaped when the Northern houses invited to the wedding crashed down on the Freys and the Boltons. Tyrion's blood boiled when he heard the Frey's name spoken; they were the ones who allowed the slaughtering of innocents under the guise of safety and hospitality.

While some whispered that the Arya Stark of the wedding was not indeed the true daughter of Eddard Stark, but a girl who was a servant in Baelish's whorehouse, it was clear from what Tyrion heard that it was Petyr Baelish who had made the match between this Arya Stark, false or true, and the cruel bastard of Roose Bolton.

Tyrion had spoken up, asking where the rotten bastard was if he allowed such harm to come to a young girl. Jorah groaned as the heads in the room all turned to look at the pair for the first time, several eyes narrowing in suspicion. A man with thick dark curly hair and a beard to match came to sit at the table with the two. He claimed his name was Edrik Holt and he was more than happy to share a round of gossip and news over a pint or two, since talking was what he was known for. Tyrion knew that the Holts used to hold what was now New Castle in White Harbor and so he had nodded his head in agreement—a drink and a story. How much harm could come of it? Edrik offered the two men a drink and then smiled before take a deep drink of his cup of ale.

He explained that Petyr Baelish had been given his due by the gods at his own wedding. He had tried to stab his wife to be—or perhaps smother her, the story seemed to change depending on who was retelling it, if Edrik were to tell the truth— and the wife in her fear somehow turned the knife on the wielder. She had stabbed him in the shoulder and then in the belly before cutting his throat in fear.

"All on his wedding night. His wife was stabbing _him_ , instead of the other way around." Edrik had laughed at his jape. Jorah sat in silence taking in the story, but Tyrion was more eager to know more about Littlefinger's ill-fated wedding.

"But who was his intended bride?" Tyrion had asked. Edrik smiled again, instructing the dwarf to drink up.

"It'll be a long journey nonetheless," the bearded man said.

"What do you mean?" Jorah finally spoke up.

"The halfman wishes to see the bride, he's getting his wish. Now, the both of you, we have a Queen who would love to see you before her in court."

The men sitting on the several benches around them stood and descended upon the two; ropes in hand to bound the prisoners and make them easier to and Jorah were too tired from their journey to give much of a fight, not that Tyrion's stature would have leant to a victory on his behalf against the burly Northern men. So Jorah and he submitted like peaceful lambs led to a slaughter. One that was hell before the two even reached the afterlife.

Tyrion and Jorah were tied to the men on horseback and forced to walk behind for much of the journey. Their clothing was not warm enough for the chilling air of the North country, and the two had not even settled into the inn before they fell into chains once more. Tyrion was glad for the walking for several of the days; it at least warmed his body and made the cold kisses of the approaching winter more bearable. But it wasn't long until his feet began to ache and he grew more tired from lack of rest and even less food. Whoever this queen was, she was not very merciful on her guests.

Tyrion lost track of the days when the two were finally loaded into a wagon when stopped at a small village, their hands were bound to their feet before them. He was tired and hungry, the cold was causing his knee and hip joints to ache more than normal as he tried to rest his head against the side of the wagon and sleep.

He had been beaten and whipped under his previous master; being forced to walk and bear a little cold was something he was sure he could handle. He could not help but fight the burning feeling in his throat that every step he made into captivity, every wheel turn, took him farther from Sansa. What had Lord Petyr done with her when he married this woman, this cruel but brave woman? Was Sansa still kept at the Eyrie, was she cold and hungry like he was? She must have had the baby by now; was it alive and healthy or sickly, perhaps even dead?

 _Lord Petyr loved Lady Catelyn, and he confused my beautiful Sansa for her mother; he must have. The two were so alike._ Tyrion reasoned as the falling of the sun signaled another day done. _He would have cared for her; he would have made sure she was comfortable._ Tyrion tried to focus on what Petyr would have done for Sansa's care. He did not want to think of Petyr raping her in his desire.

The next day he was awoken from his curled position by a plate of crusty bread and a cup of water placed heavily before him, but not spilled. The men did feed the two captives, unbinding their hands and feet to allow them to stretch and partake without hindrance, and offered blankets to fight off the evening cold. Tyrion thought the kindness was rather odd given that the two were tied to ropes and put on leads when needing to take a piss against a tree. Whoever this woman was, this Queen they were being taken to, she wanted to be sure that the two were in some form of health when they arrived.

"We will arrive at New Castle by the evening meal," the driver of their wagon informed them. "You will be escorted to the dungeons until Her Grace will go down to visit the two of you."

"In the dungeons? What sort of Queen is going to do that?" Jorah mocked. "She would have to dirty her slippers and allow the stench of filthy, shit covered men to fill her nostrils."

"I should whip you for speaking against Her Grace that way, but she would not wish to see you harmed. Be it as it is, she would flog us now for binding you two with ropes. But one can never be too cautious. Either you'll slip away or someone else'll steal you. You have a mark upon your head, Imp." The man replied, gesturing toward Tyrion. "As for our Queen loweing herself to the likes of you? We are different in the North, Lord Eddard when he was alive and well as our Lord, he made sure to teach us that we cannot be too prideful to take matters in our own hands if given the privilege to handle justice. Our Queen has learned this lesson well."

"So this is the Queen of the North?" Tyrion asked, looking up from his cup. He was silent as he listened to the men sing praises of his monarch.

"Aye, who else do you think the Flints and the Manderlys would serve?" The man scoffed.

"From what I understand, the King in the North was Ramsey Bolton." Tyion answered.

"Ramsey _Snow_. Some man would do good to remind the bastard of that," He spat into the dirt after speaking the man's name.

"So you do not support House Bolton," Tyrion mused. "And you certainly would not bend the knee to the Lannister or the Greyjoy."

"For a Lannister yourself, you are quiet intelligent," the man laughed in amusement.

"Ah, so you are certain of my identity. It does explain the luxurious treatment I have received on this ride. If I arrive safe keeping, your Queen must think it wise to ransom me." Tyrion frowned. "She should save herself the trouble and just kill me now; my sister will only be sure to do that when she gets her hands on me. Perhaps she will rend my head from my body with her own two hands." His small hand went about his neck, rubbing an imaginary slit mark.

"We are for the Starks,"

"The Starks?" Jorah laughed. The man glared at him.

"No, I think our good friend here is very serious in his allegiances," Tyrion corrected his traveling partner. He looked over the man; he had a head full of dark brown hair and blue eyes. "True Northern men are only satisfied when their proper warden is in Winterfell."

"I think that is enough conversation we have made for the afternoon," the driver looked over to Tyrion. "My Queen will be anxious if we are delayed any longer. And I do not care to be out in this damned weather any longer than I must." Rain had begun come down on the men in the wagon; Tyrion pulled his arms about his body tightly.

The driver let the two keep their blankets as shields as he returned to his position at his bench. The wagon was soon on its way again with his cry, the men on horseback flanking the sides, keeping an eye on the prisoners.

The driving rain did not let up the entire journey and Tyrion was afraid he would lose a couple fingers and toes to the weather before losing his head to his sister. His stomach churned with bile—he was so close to his escape, to finding his wife, and yet he had been captured and traded as a pawn once more. He was glad that the company had decided to forgo lunch in order to keep a steady pace; Tyrion was not sure he could keep anything in his stomach until he met this monarch and was informed of his intended fate. _At least Jorah will be spared. He can run back to Dany with his cock between his legs, begging for her forgiveness and explaining it was my own fault for getting me killed._

The lights of New Castle were warm and inviting when the wagons and horsemen pulled up to the gates of White Harbor. Tyrion and Jorah were pulled from the wagon, shedding the useless waterlogged blankets. The driver followed behind the two as they walked side by side through the city gates and up the road toward the beautiful white castle looming over the inner harbor.

"This is our walk of shame, Ser Jorah." Tyrion spoke up.

The man looked over at him; his thick brown beard was darkened by the rain and was dripping onto his chest, the rain pouring over his eyebrows. Tyrion wanted to laugh at the sight the two must make. Neither he nor Jorah had been properly bathed or groomed in nearly three months' time, perhaps even longer, and had grown impressive beards the both. Tyrion's was less sightly than Jorah's; his was patched dark gold with white gold streaks at various points of his face. The scar across his left cheek kept him from growing any hair, making him a gruesome sight. His curly hair atop his head had grown long, he had cut what he could on the boat with a knife before getting offshore, but the ends curled over the back of his shirt.

 _If only Sansa could see the frightful monster her husband could truly be_. He thought grimly as he saw the promise of open doors before him.

The two were led through the doors and down the white stone halls to the staircase which led to the dungeons. Men were waiting to relieve the riders of their duties, the grateful riders then going off with the promises of warm food and dry clothes. Jorah and Tyrion merely dripped over the white marble floors, finally freed form the torrential downpours, but not relieved of their soaked garments. The armed men stepped behind the two prisoners. Jorah and Tyrion followed sedately, their heads bowed as they ascended into the gaol.

Tyrion had not wanted to see prisons like this again. He and Jorah were separated into two cells across from one another. Tyrion was brought into his room by one of the gaolers who then kneelt before him and unbound his hands.

"I may try and choke you with these hands. I did kill my father and my whore, and a king apparently," Tyrion spoke, unable to stay quiet for much longer. "I find it so hard to keep track of all the men I have murdered."

The gaoler glanced up at Tyrion with his light eyes, but did not respond. Tyrion rubbed his wrists when the man had stepped away with the rope. The gaoler then turned and left the cell, shutting the metal door behind him. Tyrion was left to survey the room he had been left in.

The floor was littered with straw and dirt, though it was significantly cleaner than the one he was placed in at King's Landing. And far better than the gaol he faced at the Eyrie. _Oh gods, if Sansa was subjected to one of those I will be the Eyrie's personal spirit to haunt and maim in the afterlife. Let the gods bless me that much._

The gaolers left silently, and Tyrion wandered about the room several times, kicking at the small stones which littered the floor. Jorah had taken to the bed in his cell against the far wall. His snores could be heard loudly in the cavernous depths. Tyrion's legs quickly grew tired of pacing, but he was hesitant to take to the bed. And even if he did lay on the thin blankets which covered the wood, he would not find sleep. He had not drifted off quickly to sleep since he had lost Sansa, and even staying asleep was hard when he was haunted by the face of Shae gasping for breath and the echoes of the sound of his father's gasping dying breaths.

Footsteps could be heard once again, and Tyrion turned to the door hoping for some indication of what was to happen next. A man had come down the stairs, dressed in a brown jerkin and black breeches. He held a pile of unidentifiable objects to his chest.

The visitor went to Jorah's cell first, opening the door and entering with slight hesitation. "These are dry clothes. Her Grace is coming down to assess your crimes and person, and you must be better dressed and less damp when she does."

Tyrion's eyebrows knit together, the voice sounded so familiar. The boy who had spoken to him was far from here, what need would bring his squire to King's Landing? Tyrion rubbed his eyes, wondering if perhaps sleep was something which he needed. His mind had started playing tricks on him in his exhaustion.

The door to his cell opened minutes later, and the sight caused Tyrion to take a step backwards. It was indeed Podrick Payne, though more grown and older looking, who stood before him. The now-man had a hair of straight, thick black hair and his shining brown eyes reflected the light of the torches of the dungeon.

"Pod?!" Tyrion cried out in disbelief.

"M'lord," Podrick nodded his head, but he could not contain the smile which crossed his face.

"You have grown, boy," Tyrion commented, not knowing what else to say in the swirl of thoughts in his head.

"And you have gotten more hairy, m'lord." Podrick replied.

"I see you have gotten more cheeky in my absence," the halfman responded. "It is so hard to maintain my rather dashing good looks without the help of my faithful squire.

"I have brought you new clothes, m'lord." Podrick replied. He paused in handing forth the clothing. "I know you are not in a lordly state in this prison, but may…may I act as your squire?"

Tyrion smiled up at the man. Podrick quickly laid out the clothes as Tyrion stripped himself of his soaked and dirt stained tunic and ragged breeches. He had not small clothes since his days on the ship, and he eagerly took the pair from Podrick. With Podrick's assistance Tyrion was clad in new, dry clothes in moments. They were not garments of great wealth, but they were dry and new. Tyrion was grateful for the gesture.

"You must have a very kind Queen, Pod," Tyrion pulled at the white sleeves which pooled about his arms. He was supplied with a warm red jerkin over top and brown breeches over his sore legs.

"You will meet her soon enough," Podrick smiled.

"Your family would frown upon you for turning to the Northern houses, would they not?" Tyrion laughed as he looked up at the boy.

"Perhaps, but my service is to my lord first and foremost. I think when you meet her, you will understand better the decisions I have made." Podrick replied. A clamor of voices coming from the main hall of the gaol caused Tyrion to glance over his former squire's shoulder.

He could see the cells lighting up as more torches graced the dungeons. "It seems Her Grace is here now, she must have forgone supper to come and meet you."

"She certainly is a peculiar woman," Tyrion said, the corner of his mouth pulling into a wry smile as he looked at his squire.

"I think perhaps it is best to reserve judgment until you have met her yourself," Podrick replied.

"A wise squire I kept," Tyrion reached out to pat Podrick's arm. "But please come and visit me after she has told me my fate. I wish to know if you have heard anything about Sansa—"

"Welcome to New Castle, my dear…friends and comrades." A booming voice interrupted Tyrion and the man looked to the door. He noticed that Podrick had not shut it behind him. "We hope that you will enjoy your stay."

Tyrion followed Podrick toward the front of his cell. There stood a handsome man with a head of beautiful sandy brown hair and deep blue eyes. He looked to Tyrion as he stepped forward.

"And who are you?" Tyrion asked.

"My name is Ser Harrold Hardyng." The man replied. "And you would be Tyrion Lannister, the famous Imp and Halfman."

"A bit far from your aunt and Ironoaks, are you not?" Tyrion asked.

"Well, you are a bit far from Casterly Rock or King's Landing, and in Northern territory with a price upon your head."

"Enough, Harry," A round woman stepped forward, her dark hair cascaded over her full breasts. She smiled at Tyrion.

"Lady Myranda," Tyrion nodded his head at the woman. Lady Myranda laughed.

"You have a good memory. I do not think I have seen you since I was young." She said.

"You look the image of your mother," Tyrion offered. He smiled at her, but could not help but reminded yet again of an aspect of his wife. _Let this Queen be merciful for Sansa's sake_. He pleaded to the gods.

"I am glad we are to treat these traitors and enemies to the crown as guests, but we can keep a fair amount of distance." Ser Harry interrupted, his tone indicating he was not delightful about the kinder treatment Tyrion and Jorah had received.

"Whether they are traitors or not is my decision," A voice spoke up from the back of the growing crowd of audience. Tyrion blanched when he heard it. "One of them has made it hard for me to label a traitor."

She stepped forward. Her auburn hair was darker than he remember, her face a bit more pale. Her river blue eyes, however, were as beautiful and haunted as he remembered. She was a bit more plump than when he last saw her, and her breasts were fuller. She was beautiful.

"Sansa Stark," Jorah spoke up from his cell. His door was closed and he leaned against the iron grates.

"All hail the Queen of the North!" Podrick bellowed out beside Tyrion.

The ladies and knights which comprised the audience bowed and curtsied respectively. Podrick bent at the waist beside Tyrion. But Tyrion stood upright, making eye contact with Sansa. She did not smile, did not move a muscle, but she did look back at him. Tyrion felt himself grow lightheaded and stepped backward into his cell, blindly searching for a wall but never taking his eyes off the spectre which stood before him.


	44. Burdened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello there, readers, look at me doing two updates in a week! Here is a very anticipated chapter- hope you don't hate me too much. I love you all too dearly to lose you :) - Lydia

"Let us hear what these men have to say, and then let us return to our meals." Sansa said as she looked at Jorah first and then to Tyrion.

"I shall listen to Ser Jorah's story," Ser Albar stepped forward to take to the prisoner in the cell across from Tyrion, his body slumped against the furthest wall. Sansa nodded her head and Tyrion found he was glad that she would come to him first. She would be separated from him no longer.

"Very well. Ser Harry will assist me in listening to Tyrion Lannister's," Sansa's face was stoic as she looked at him.

Tyrion had settled against the wall after seeing her for the first time; he was afraid if he moved any more he would awaken and she would be gone. But here she still stood, her hands crossed before her body. Harry made his way into the cell first, glaring down at Tyrion as he passed. Sansa passed him next, her grey skirts sweeping close to him as she walked near to where he stood, her blue eyes downcast. She smelled of flowers and sweets.

Tyrion watched as she followed closely behind Harry. Podrick came back into the room with a chair for Sansa to perch upon as she looked over at Tyrion. He took to the wooden bed which was across from Sansa, a way for him to be level with her but not lose sight of his long lost direwolf wife. He settled onto the wood, his back pressed against the wall and his stunted legs splayed before his body. He crossed his arms as he looked over to the hailed Queen of the North.

"So where have you been all these months?" Harry asked, he too crossing his arms against his strong chest. Tyrion remembered the boy now as he looked at him, the haughty knight at the tourneys who fought bravely and had the ladies swooning over his strength and beauty. He was well known for being an exquisite lover in the sheets, often bedding whatever woman he gave his favor to.

Tyrion felt his heart crash into his stomach as he looked over at Sansa, his lady wife who loved handsome, strong knights, who was a beautiful and caring lady. His wife who was sweet smelling and bright eyed and easily convinced. She deserved a husband as Ser Harry, and man of status and stature who could give her a good name and handsome children. Had Ser Barriston been wrong in his assessment of the importance of Tyrion's child? Had Sansa taken to the tourney knight instead? The babe was not here and she had not offered him a kind gesture the entire night. Had Sansa fallen in love with Ser Harry Hardyng who could provide her charms and luxuries even in the hardest of wars? The thought tumbled over and over in the back of his mind, littering his thoughts.

Tyrion looked over at Sansa, not able to conceal the frown on his face. She raised her eyes to look at him, but her face was neutral still. She looked back down at his shoes as he began to speak.

"I was in the tower for a time after King Joffrey's death, my brother, Ser Jaime, helped me escape. I am sure there is rumor concerning my killing a whore and my father." Tyrion looked at Sansa, wanting to get some reaction from her. "I was boarded onto a ship in a crate and was sent across the sea to Pentos. I traveled south on a boat and made the journey all the way to Selhorys where Ser Jorah found me and took me captive, to present me to the Khaleesi, Daenarys Targaryen. I am sure you have heard of her. Eddard Stark had proposed to take care of the girl before she became a threat; and she is becoming one. We made it as far as Volantis where we were taken captive as slaves and made to perform in shows to make profit for our master. I was known as Yollo then."

Sansa looked up at him now, her eyes watching his face, her face pale in the torchlight. She made eye contact with him and he saw the pain in her eyes. When he defiantly stared at her, his eyes never wavering from her high cheeks and gentle brow, her gaze fluttered back to her lap. She held her hands tightly on her thighs as she kept her eyes shamefully downcast.

"And what then, Imp?" Harry asked. Sansa's head shot up as she looked at Harry, her light eyebrows crossing as she frowned at him, breaking the fluid and demure atmosphere she presented with the way she carried her feminine self.

"We were held captive until the bloody flux came through and killed him. We then made our way west to Dany's encampment. Barriston Selmy was there, and he sent me back to help Eddard Stark's daughter. You have an ally on that front over on those battle lines." Tyrion smiled wryly, crossing his hands on his lap. "He sent me also to gain Sansa's word on an alliance with the Khaleesi when she comes to take the Iron Throne."

"We have heard of this woman. She has returned to her encampment with dragons, and has waged war on Slaver's Bay. It was a bloody battle," Harry said. "And she wishes to come across the sea to take back once more the Iron Throne for her house of dragons, expecting Sansa Stark to approve of more violence than what has already been dealt in Westeros?"

"I do not care who sits on the Iron Thone. As long as I have Winterfell back." Sansa spoke up. Tyrion looked over at her, glad to have her speak in his presence. "Tell your Khaleesi, when you return, that I give support to whomever will deliver me Winterfell."

"I am not returning," he looked at Sansa. Her blue eyes widened. _Is she saddened, upset that I do not leave her side?_ "Ser Jorah will return and inform the girl, as long as you permit him so. I am going to stay here in Westeros, suffer whatever fate and punishment laid upon me."

Sansa's wide blank eyes stared at him; she looked like a confused and trapped animal. She stared at him frozen for several more heartbeats before relaxing her widened blue eyes and posture, standing and brushing down her skirts. "Leave us,"

"But Your Grace, you cannot stay with him. You do not know what harm he means you." Harry insisted, stepping towards her. "He has murdered people, he has told you this himself. Your ears have heard it."

Tyrion watched as Harry reached out for Sansa, but she pulled her hand away. It was then that Tyrion caught sight of the jewelry on her ring finger—a golden lion with ruby eyes. She still kept his ring after the times spent apart. He prayed it was a sign of good fortune; he could not bear to lose Sansa, though he would give her whatever would make her most happy. If that was a dead husband for her to marry again, he would let her fall in love with someone else, as long as he was able to speak with her one last time.

It was clear that Harry was still rather annoyed at being sent from the cell, his mouth contorting into a scowl and his blonde eyebrows knitting to furrow his brow, but he turned nonetheless. When he had exited the room Sansa looked over at Tyrion. "I imagine you are in want of a hot meal, my lord."

"My lady," Tyrion felt his throat burn. "I am your prisoner, I am shamed and disgraced, I am no lord."

"You are to me," Sansa stood.

She held her hand out to him in a welcoming gesture. Tyrion looked up at her, but slipped off the bed and stepped toward her, looking at it. He then placed his hand in hers. She led him out of the room and up the stairs, leaving her court behind.

* * *

Tyrion followed her into the apartment she had been given in her stay at White Harbor. He looked about at the large space she had been entrusted to, several rooms for a young lady who lived alone. The door opened to the main room, consisting of a lounge and dining area, a table sat with food waiting.

The next room she led him to was the bedroom. A large poster bed was made and pristine throw pillows were strewn about the floor to encourage lounging and laziness. The room next door was a dressing room, a vanity sat at the far side of the room and Tyrion could see his crazed appearance in the looking glass. A tub had been brought into the room, but it was still empty.

Tyrion thought that Sansa would continue through the space on their silent tour of where she dwelt, ignoring his presence but acknowledging it in a juxtaposition of welcome and rejection, but she stopped in the bedroom. He reached out toward her, grabbed her hand, kissing the back, his lips on her smooth skin. Sansa paused, looking down at him with a weak smile.

"Come, my lord, let us eat some hot food. I will send my handmaidens to fetch hot water so that you are able to clean the dirt and travel from your limbs, if you wish." She turned once more to return to the main quarters of the apartment where the food lay on the table.

"It seems I have interrupted your dining," Tyrion followed her; sad that she had not seemed to reciprocate the affection he had given her. "I meant to have arrived at an earlier time, but the men refused to keep on schedule." He tried his hand at humor, hoping to crack her.

"My men should not have treated you as they did," Sansa replied as she took her place at the table. Tyrion took the chair next to her. "I instructed them to treat you well."

"It is kind to see my lady cares," Tyrion said, and he meant it. Sansa could have ordered him to be dragged about as a prisoner; he would not have faulted her for it. He treated her slovenly when away from her and he deserved the unkindness.

Sansa did not answer, but took to filling her plate with the roasted goose, pickled fish, and fresh baked bread. Tyrion took her cue and began to stuff his plate, his empty belly craving to be filled with hot food. He took a roll in hand eagerly and took the bread between his teeth, ripping it violently and chewing an embarrassingly full mouth of the warm food. He groaned automatically, the taste of the bread was heaven compared to the meals of cold fish and stale bread on the ship.

"You seem to not have eaten in months, my lord." Sansa spoke up, looking over at him.

"I was on a boat for several what seemed like years, and the cuisine was not the best." Tyrion admitted. "And the travel here did not lend for fresh food for either; for the prisoners or the guards."

Sansa frowned. "You are not a prisoner."

"I seem to recall saying something similar to you, Sansa. But you were as caged then as I am now." Tyrion replied. "What do you intend to do with me, seeing that you have found me? And speak true, my lady. I understand if you were to give me over to my sister in order to seek peace for the Northern men. Though I must inform you that she will never make such a deal, and if she does think herself clever enough to fool you, she will break it in moments."

"No, Tyrion." Sansa shook her head, her eyes looking back to her plate. "I will not see your head removed as quickly as my father's." She shut her eyes, and Tyrion saw a tear slide down her cheek. She held the fork in hand, her emotions holding her captive and silent.

Tyrion felt his stomach bile churn as he realized he had hurt her. He reached toward her, pausing for a moment, but deciding that he had nothing to lose. His touch would not change her mind as to whether she despised him or felt some sort of mercy toward him; she would have made up her mind regarding that already. "I am sorry, my love. I did not mean to hurt you with memories. It seems that even in my chains I did not learn the ability of wise speech."

Sansa looked at his hand resting gently on hers, pausing for a moment before resting her hand atop his. Tyrion's heart fluttered, his eyes looking up to his wife. Her blue eyes looked at him for the first time without guard. They were shimmering with the presence of unshed tears, and she bit her lip as she swallowed.

"I do not mean to be so cold," Sansa assured him. "So much has changed and I…I am not sure you will like the person I have become. I am not the lady my mother raised me to be." Sansa hung her head, her eyes once again looking away from him as her hair veiled her face. But she kept her hand in his, and he held fast.

"Sansa, I can assure you that you are the very woman your mother was," Tyrion squeezed the side of her hand in his. Sansa smiled sadly at him, her shimmering eyes returning to meet his once more, the corner of her mouth pulling upwards before she turned and looked away, her hands untangling from his and going back to her eating utensils. "You are as beautiful as your mother was, even more so."

"I do not care to hear about how I look compared to my mother, my lord." Sansa did not look at him as she shifted through her food with her fork, but her eyebrow rose gently. "Please, have some wine, my lord. I am sure it will take away the chill of the evening from your blood; the winds of winter have descended upon White Harbor quite rapidly."

Tyrion frowned at her, but took hold of the pitcher before him and poured into the silver goblet the red wine. He took a sip and was rewarded with a very fine taste; warm and heady, the best the North had to offer. "Is it customary for the castle to keep such rich vintages?"

"The wedding celebration did not last more than a day; that seems to be the practice of weddings as of late." Sansa commented mysteriously, her knife sawing again and again into an already hacked piece of goose.

"I suppose it is." Tyrion took another drink, this time much deeper as the ache for the liquid was quenched.

He had stopped drinking months before; whether it was because he was under a new master or he had grown more disgusted with himself after fucking the whore Ser Jorah had found him with. How he longed to be with his wife in such capacity, a closeness he yearned for since she had left him. But he could not force her to such intimacy after their unplanned and unexpected reunion.

Then again, she had said that the wine was undrank because of the wedding gone sour. Perhaps it was more than the groom who was taken that night. "Is this poisoned?"

Sansa looked up from her meal with wide blue eyes. Tyrion was surprised she was even allowing him to sit at her table. "Why would it be poisoned, my lord?"

"You seem rather angry with me, my lady. You may not wish to turn me over to the Queen Regent, but would it be unfair to say that you would wish me gone?" He asked, taking another sip of wine.

"My lord—" Sansa shook her head, her hands letting go of the fork and knife in her hands.

She sat back against her chair, folding her hands in her lap once more, her eyes looking to the wall in front of her.

She was as tall and proud as a steel statue, her countenance unmoving and her shield unwielding. He could feel the anger sear his belly as he realized she was kind and polite, her movements delicate and soft. She was avoiding him with her kindness and ladylike manners. She was pushing him away once more.

"You have walled me from you with your fucking courtesies." Tyrion said, the wine beginning to make his head swim. Perhaps he was being poisoned and he was dying and these would be his last lunatic words to his lady wife; perhaps it was just his wrath welling and the time to be angry with her had dawned. "You left me. You told me you were pregnant, you left me to face the courts without you by my side. I was accused of killing the king and you were not there to speak for me."

Sansa looked over at him with wider blue eyes, her face paling as he began to let go emotions he had not realized he had stockpiled over the months. The dam was broken and the flood was going to drown her. "I loved you, Sansa. I truly loved you."

Sansa gently inhaled and then closed her eyes, her body stiffening as she took in what he was saying to her. She bit her lip again, her hands gently resting beside him on the table. "Fuck your courtesies, Sansa." Tyrion groaned.

Sansa did not seem to respond to his outburst as she returned to her dinner, not looking at him and not speaking. He found he was even more mad at her for not defending herself, for allowing him to throw accusations and insults at her without making a case back at him. Had he not forced his love on her, expected her to feel the same way because she allowed him to fuck her? He was being irrational, but he did not want to admit it—he wanted her to call him out on his sins and tell him that he was wrong. He was again expecting something that he would not hear. He was fooling himself.

Tyrion took to drinking his wine and eating the hot food before him, all the while staring his wife down. Perhaps she had wanted to marry Ser Harry. Perhaps the two of them were taken to bed and she had found comfort in the arms of another. It would explain why his insults and accusations seemed to mean nothing to her. They were easy to brush away because she had found protection in a more suitable man's arms.

But sweet Sansa, when he knew her, even feared the king under her lord husband's protection. Could it be that she was not afraid because Harry Hardying offered something more? Or had Tyrion just become too soft spoken towards her that she no longer felt the bite of his roar?

He could not decide which thought was a mirror to the truth as he drank a cup of wine and then another, watching Sansa eat slowly and stiffly, her eyes on her food. She finished eating in silence, placing her fork down atop her plate. It was then she spoke, causing Tyrion to jolt at the gentle, soothing cadence of her voice.

"I am Queen in the North, Tyrion Lannister. The pronounced leader of dozens of large houses and hundreds of small ones, and all the ladies and the men in these houses and homes have called me to be their representative. They want me to return to the North as a Stark, not as a Lannister, and certainly not as Sansa, the stupid little girl that left Winterfell with dreams of knights and castles.

Of course, how can I be the girl who left for Winterfell? The one who has returned has been through the worst a man can offer. I have been near raped at my wedding held her in White Harbor by the man who wanted to train me to sing for him, I have been through hell arriving at White Harbor traveling roads with men who want to rob me or take me to the Queen Regent for the bounty on my head. I gave birth on the road, and I thought my true husband was dead. That was what Sansa Stark went through to become the woman, not the lady for she has no grace and honor left, sitting before you today.

I wish to speak for myself, but I do not. I speak for houses that have gone through what I have faced only greater; I have gone through villages that have had their women raped, their houses burned and their crops destroyed by the forces of Ramsey Snow and Stannis Baratheon. I do not stand for myself any longer. I stand for a group of people, and they all look to me for strength." Sansa looked over at him.

"I have not had a moment to understand how I feel because I must be sensitive to those who demand my attention and presence. My mouth is not my own anymore, it is for the houses of the North who want peace and order back to our homelands, left out of the conflict of the fight for the thrones in the South that has not only destroyed tradition and the codes of honor, but also the lives and hearts of men. I am called to take my people from those bindings and lead them back to the glory the North once had.

And I have ushered into this growing army of ours a man who is from the House which destroyed mine. His nephew had my father's head cut from his neck. His father had my mother and brother killed at a wedding. His house kept me locked up at the capital, under the pretense of marrying the King. Only to be cast aside and given to him instead. His family lied to mine, killed the honor and the hope that we had left of returning to the North and to Winterfell. How can this man, who is from a house of liars and traitors, how can he mean any good to me? And by extension, any good to the Houses of the North?

"No one in my court can trust a Lannister. Why reason would they? And here I come leading them with a half Lannister child. I am surprised I have earned the support and alliances I have. And you…you come back and you want to be with me again. What does this look like to the men? A possible threat as their queen is swayed by a lion? A queen who once bore the Direwolf sigil and was a proud Stark.

"They do not know that not all lions savage wolves. They do not understand the kindness you have given me. They think you had raped me when we were married, they hope that this evening I am pouring poison into your wine. They would see it as the right kind of execution, the next head to fall after the head of the snake, Petyr Baelish. Only few understand that I cannot. There are only some who know me so intimately that know that I cannot deal with you according to the affairs of state and logic. I cannot pour poison down your throat any more than you could rape me at your wedding feast. For I am kind and I am merciful, but I also am stupid and foolish. I am not different with my heart than you are with yours. I am the disappointment Queen." Sansa said as she looked over at him, her mouth quaking slightly and giving indication to how she felt.

"Why can't you, Sansa? Do you wish for me to do it myself?" Tyrion asked. "Give me the poison and let me take my own life, if my presence pains you so much." He knew he should not have said what he just did, but his heart hurt at the true statements Sansa presented to him. He was a rational man, but he forgot that he lost all sense and direction when with his Direwolf wife.

"I cannot kill you because when we were apart, when I was left with your face haunting my memories, my dreams…I realized that I could never kill you." Sansa met his eyes, her blue eyes still shimmering with brimming tears. "Because I, the foolish, stupid girl I have been this entire war, I have fallen in love with you."

Sansa stood abruptly, her skirts rustling as she moved quickly into the next room. Tyrion sat still in shock as she fled to the bedroom— until he heard her soft sobs in the other room. He had heard her cry like this before, when she had learned of her family's death and she thought no one could hear her mourn for them. Tyrion had kept his distance then, had let her think she was on her own to shed her tears. He had ignored his impulse to return to the room and wrap her in his arms and hold her as she collapsed with nothing to support her. He had thought that she would not want comfort from a Lannister, but now he realized she had wanted anyone who would hold her up while she was crumbling.

Tyrion sat for another moment in the chair, before slipping to the floor. He thought for a fleeting second that perhaps that he should question after her, let her decide whether she wanted him to come closer or to stay away. But damn her courtesies and her kindness, she would send him away even when she was breaking. She had already done that once in his feeble attempt to comfort her in the darkest hour.

He moved as quickly as his aching, cold, sore legs would allow him into the next room where Sansa had collapsed on the rug, her face in her hands.

She wept as quietly as she could. Tyrion came to her side, shying for a moment when he realized how much he probably stunk from traveling the roads and how dirty he was despite the new clothes he was provided. He dropped to his knees beside her, placing his hand on her head.

She turned her face to look at him, her cheeks streaked with tears and her eyes red from the rivers which streamed down her cheeks and Tyrion realized the weight which was laid upon his child wife, a young girl who was only just fifteen at most, if it had passed her name day.

"Sansa," he murmured, his hand reaching out to touch her face gently, his thumb brushing at her tears. Sansa placed her hand over Tyrion's.

"I have done very terrible things, Tyrion," Sansa's voice cracked as she looked up at him.

"Come and tell me, my lady, and let me bear your disgrace and your burden." He meant what he said. He wanted her to curl against him and tell him all that hurt and ached and scared her. He was determined that this time he would watch her to be sure she did not run. He would run after her once again if she did.

Sansa smiled up at him weakly, though this time the gesture was genuine and true. Tyrion responded with his own grin, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on her cheek. Sansa closed her eyes, and his lips were hot with the near tears running down her face. He lowered himself to lie at her side, pressing close to her and wrapping his arms about her.

He pressed against the back of her head with his hand and encouraged her face to nestle in his chest. She began to cry harder as he held her, whispering soft words of kindness into her ears and placing kisses in her auburn hair. Her limbs melted into his as he felt the weight of six months of separation collapse against his body and soak into his tunic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (P.S.- I updated Family Matters this week which is a little more floofy if you want to give that a read after this!)


	45. Meetings

Sansa lay next to Tyrion for what seemed like hours, though was in reality only several minutes, his body a warmth against hers, his arms around her tightly. He was angry with her, and with good reason. She had left him with no explanation and no known reason, other than the fact that she had been held prisoner in the walls of King's Landing and wanted badly to escape such a place. But as he held her, here on the rugs of animal skins and furs, they were not angry with one another. It was merely she and him again, their arms about each other.

He smelled strongly of sweat and travel, and the skin about his arms was darkened with dirt and debris. She knew it was making her dirty as well, but in the moment she did not care. She did not want to untwine herself from his body, and he was letting her cry. She had not allowed herself to break, to allow tears to slip down her cheek since…well since the incident on her wedding night.

It was Robb's crying in the other room which caused her to stir. She had left her son there with a septa while she had gone down the stairs quickly with a heart full of promise, and dread, that the prisoners below included her husband. She had trusted the septa to care for her son while she spoke with Tyrion, though she never did prepare him for the news of his offspring. Had she even mentioned the child she had born was a boy? She did not remember.

Sansa moved first, taking her cheek off of his chest and pushing herself to a reclining position on her hip. She looked over at Tyrion and the frightful sight he was—his bronzed hair was a tangled curly mess atop his head and he had grown a thick beard of gold with flecks of white. It softened the scar across his face, drawing attention from it. His green eyes looked at her, wide and alert, pausing as the crying grew more loud. She realized that perhaps it had not settled in yet for him that he had a child. That she had given birth to _their_ baby.

Sansa stirred once more, pulling her feet under her hips and gently rising. Tyrion sat up, looking at her. "Is…is that what I…" He stuttered, his limbs frozen and his mouth hanging agape. Sansa did not reply but slipped off into the next room.

Septa Elyse held the crying baby in her arms, the boy's face was red and his eyes were filled with tears. The septa tried her best to bounce the baby on her hip, but the child would not soothe.

"I think he is wanting for some dinner himself, my lady." Septa Elyse spoke. Sansa smiled at her son who began to calm as he saw his mother.

"Look at your big fat tears, my dear boy." Sansa cooed quietly, holding her arms out to the baby. Robb reached forward for his mother, tipping out of his nurse's arms. Sansa took him into her arms, pulling him close.

"You have brought someone to your quarters, I heard, my lady." Septa Elyse turned pink as she admitted to over hearing the two.

Sansa nodded her head; she and Lady Randa had taken to finding a suitable caretaker for the young boy for the times when Sansa was away in the counsel room meeting with the different lords of the North, trying to convince them to lend her their armies. The two had come across Septa Elyse, a young woman who was in the godswood when the two stumbled upon her. She was gentle spoken, and Sansa could tell that she would keep whatever secrets she overheard.

"They have found Lord Tyrion," Sansa replied. She balanced her son on her hip with one arm, the other smoothing over his copper gold tufts of hair. She placed a kiss on his temple. "You are going to meet your father, my little one."

Septa Elyse reached forward to place her hand on Sansa's arm. "Do you wish me to return to my room for the evening? The young one is sleeping through the night now, there is no need for me to keep guard at his crib in case he stirs."

"If you wish to," Sansa felt her heart quicken, taking her breath. She did not expect herself to grow nervous at the thought of being truly alone with Tyrion. It was something she had been longing for since soon after their separation, but she had become a different person in their months apart.

 _I have killed someone with my own hands, like a wildling. I tore him apart_. The image swept past Sansa's eyes and she shuddered at the sight. She tried to push it away, but the sickness in her belly prevailed as she turned back towards the door.

"Good night, Lady Sansa," Septa Elyse bid the woman goodbye before slipping through the door on the far side of the wall which led to the hallway to her own quarters.

Sansa looked down at Robb who was chewing on a lock of her hair she had taken in his hand. She sighed as she grabbed hold of the hair and brush the spit sodden lock behind her shoulder.

"I hope your father enjoys drooly babies," Sansa commented as she took hold of the door handle. She took a breath before opening the door to her bedroom and entering with her son on her hip.

Tyrion had taken to standing before the fire, looking into the dancing flames. His eyes watched the flickers and flares, unmoving at the snaps and cracks, his brows furrowed in his normal look of contemplation. Sansa hated to drag him away from it. But he would have much more to think over soon enough.

"Tyrion," Sansa said gently. Tyrion turned, his green eyes flickering up to her slowly. They widened again as he took in the sight of her.

She stepped forward, dropping quickly to her knees and placing Robb on the floor. He whimpered when Sansa let him go so she could recline on her hip, only silencing when she placed him against her belly. She returned her attention back to Tyrion who had turned to look at the two, but was still frozen. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then thought better of it. He shook his head.

"Come, my lord," Sansa held out her hand to her husband. He took a hesitant step toward her. "He is half wolf blood, but he will not bite, I promise." She assured him.

Tyrion stepped closer, gently reaching out his hand to take hers. She pulled him closer, encouraging him to sit next to her. He obeyed, his gaze still distant and wide as he looked upon Robb who had taken to grabbing one of the smaller pillows before them and banging it against his small legs before chewing on it contentedly.

Tyrion looked to Sansa as he settled next to her, his legs crossed before his body, his shoulder near hers. Sansa turned her face to look at her shocked lord husband. He sat tall and still as a statue. Sansa turned Robb to face the man, leaning his back against her stacked legs.

"This is Robbert Lannister," Sansa spoke up. "your son."Tyrion shook his head, his eyes closing as he did so. "We call him Robb as a pet name."

"Robbert," Tyrion tried to speak, she could hear the tightness of his voice and he coughed after saying his son's name. "My…he's _my_ son."

"I can promise you that I lay with no other man, so he would be yours." Sansa said as she pulled her son closer to them. "Hold him,"

She took the baby in her arms, then turned to place him in Tyrion's. Robb paused, his baby blue eyes were watching Tyrion with suspicion, and he no lingered smiled. His face was as filled with shock as his father's. Tyrion cradled Robb in one arm so that he could gently run his pointer finger down the cheek of the baby he held.

"He is not made of porcelain, Tyrion," Sansa assured him. "He proved that yesterday when he insisted on moving and falling forward off his pillow."

"This…he…he…he is _my son_?" Tyrion asked once more.

Sansa watched him, silenced now, as her husband took his son in both his arms again, placing him before his body and looking over the small child. He shook his head, his mouth contorting into a grimace. Sansa's heart dropped. _I thought he wanted a child…perhaps he only wanted to make me happy._

Her fears were quelled when Tyrion's grimace became a pained smile and he closed his eyes, tears now staining his cheeks. Sansa felt her heart shudder as she watched Tyrion cry over his child, pulling him close to his body. He placed a rough kiss on Robb's forehead.

The baby watched with wide eyes, not making a sound as he took in the sight of his father. He began to squirm and gave a cry, his arms squeezing in toward his small body and his face scrunching as he gave several warning snorts before he began to cry. Tyrion's eyes widened as he looked down at the boy, this time in panic. Sansa laughed, taking the baby in her arms.

"Do not be offended by his cries," she assured Tyrion. "He has been hungry, the septa told me."

"There was a septa behind closed doors?" Tyiron asked, his face paling.

"She has returned to her quarters, we are truly alone." Sansa replied. "But I had to have someone keeping an eye on this little brat while I could." She pinched Robb's nose lovingly. "She says he is near crawling age, meaning he will only be more of a terror."

"He is absolutely beautiful," Tyrion replied, looking at the baby once more. Robb had quieted for a moment when he was once more in Sansa's arms, but his cries were not held in for long.

"Yes he is, until he keeps you up for several weeks straight," Sansa grinned, placing her son back in Tyrion's arms. "If you do not mind holding him for a few moments I need to quickly slip into more comfortable clothing."

"Will he be alright?" Tyrion asked, looking down at the reddening face of the boy.

"He will be fine; he gets a bit dramatic when he is in want of something. It is of no help that Randa spoils him so." She smiled, slipping into the changing room next door.

She reddened as she thought about bringing Robb to the nursery to feed him, sheepish about Tyrion seeing her breast. It was absolute nonsense, she tried to scold herself, since he had seen and held her breasts plenty of times. She tried to ignore the shifting uncomfortableness in her belly and stripped herself of her dress. She slipped from her used shift and changed into a new one, looser around the collar than she was used to, making it easier for her to manipulate her body to feed her son. She then returned to the room where Robb was in hysterics and Tyrion was holding him away from his body like a slippery fish.

"Oh, come here my child," Sansa laughed, taking Robb in her arms. "You are scaring your father on your first evening together; that is not very lordly of you." She had taken the interrupted moment to slip free a breast. She help Robb to her chest and he took to her. "There, now you get your dinner and hush, my little lord."

Tyrion watched with wonder as Sansa held the baby against her body. "How many months have I missed?" He finally asked.

"A little over five months," Sansa replied. Tyrion looked at her now.

"You have cared for him the entire time?"

"Lady Myranda has helped me quite a lot," Sansa replied. "She is a wonder, a spitfire but a caring soul." Sansa smiled. "She reminds me of Arya in such respect, though she understands the demands of a lady more than my sister does…did." Sansa looked down to Robb as she tried to avoid the conversation of her sister. "Your Podrick has done a wonder with the boy, his constant guard and caretaker. I almost thought there was no need for a septa, but I did not think Podrick would be comfortable dwelling in my chambers, just he and I, at odd times. He blanches as it is if I nurse Robb anywhere near him. The trip north lent him many hardships because little lords seem to never be full." She tickled her son's small tummy as he tugged at her breast.

"I suppose I was correct in placing my trust in the boy." Tyrion leaned closer to her so that he could peer over to see Robb's face. She smiled at her lord husband, beckoning him to seal the distance so he could see the young son he was meeting for the first time.

"He is a good companion on the roads; you should know that he took good care of me and Robb. He even stepped in to rescue us one evening, when we were found out by one who wanted to give me to Cersei," Sansa said. "He stabbed him, right through the back."

"I owe that boy more gold than what my family has left," Tyrion frowned.

"I have knighted him in the Northern countries; I know it does not mean much south of the Neck, but at least it is a start for the poor boy. I am strongly convinced he took me up and down the coast for ages, though Ser Albar insists that it was a rough journey north with a small boy and little sleep. My constant and faithful shadow, especially after what happened…with Lord Baelish, I mean."

"I have heard some tales, my wife, but would be interesting to hear from the Queen of the North herself. Perchance you will tell me the exciting story, Sansa?" Tyrion asked. Sansa looked over at him, her limbs shaking with the thought of recounting the story. The image of her hands covered in blood woke her up most nights with the urge to vomit, and sometimes she did so into her water pan.

"There is not much to tell," Sansa replied. She met Tyrion's eye and saw that he frowned, but the slight nod of his head indicated that she knew she did not wish to speak of it. _Perhaps you and I are even closer than we thought, my little lord husband._

She looked down at Robb, his eyes were beginning to close and he sucked lazily at her breast. Sansa brushed his hair back with her free hand, and then pulled him away. She slipped herself away into her shift as she cradled the boy in her arms. He soon was tucked against her side, sleeping.

"I should put him in his crib so he will sleep the night," she murmured to Tyrion quietly. "Podrick is usually right outside the door, if you wish to tell him that you need hot bath water."

"He truly has become your ever present knight, has he not?" Tyrion chuckled, crawling to his feet and making his way to the main quarters.

Sansa tiptoed quietly into Robb's nursery, intent on not waking the silent infant. She placed him in his crib with a small kiss to the temple and a brush of the head. She smiled at the boy as he stirred slightly in his sleep, a thin line of drool making its way from his half opened mouth.

She returned to the bedroom to find several handmaidens and serving boys bringing forth hot water to the dressing chamber. She thanked them as they passed, searching for Tyrion in the bustle. She found him with Podrick already in the dressing room sitting at a chair. Podrick had a sharp blade in hand and was cutting away the unruly parts of his master's golden hair. Already Tyrion was looking more lordly and less wild as Podrick made quick work of the curled locks.

Sansa went to work gathering the cloths and the soaps for Tyrion's bath. She chose bath soaps that were perfumed lightly with the scent of water lilies, a gift from a town outside of White Harbor. The townspeople had bestowed upon Sansa several baskets of sweet smelling soaps and candles, as well as several new hair ribbons and stockpiled honey. They must have been gifts received from afar, but the men and women gave to her anyways. They wished to be rid of the reign of the Stannis Baratheon and the Boltons, returned once more to the guardianship of the Starks.

When Sansa had collected the various tools Tyrion would need to rid himself of the travel dust he had accumulated, including one of her fine glass combs, she returned to the vanity and chair which Tyrion sat at. Podrick was finishing taming Tyrion's beard, cutting it shorter against his face. He had a collection of sheared hair at his feet and Tyrion was becoming more recognizable now that he had been groomed by his faithful squire.

"I will have to wait until tomorrow when I have the proper soaps and razors to shave m'lord." Podrick said as he looked over at Sansa.

"The beard does not harm Tyrion's face," Sansa smiled.

"I am sure my lady prefers it, at least it hides most of the hideousness she has decided to remain bound to." Tyrion scratched at the beard as he looked into the looking glass perched upon the surface of the vanity. "At the very least I look less like a wildling and more like a passable Westerosi."

"Your bath is prepared, my lord," Sansa gestured toward the steaming tub.

"Does m'lord need help?" Podrick asked.

"I think all I need is quiet and a good bar of soap," Tyrion looked at Sansa's hand, which held the mentioned item. "It seems my lady wife still knows what I am in need of."

"I must make requests to the tradesman to have several jerkins and dublets made up for you, my lord." Sansa frowned as she realized she had only commanded a few pieces of clothing be made for him in the hopes that he ever did return to her. Tyrion reached out toward her, and she offered forth her hand.

She expected Tyrion to say something, but instead he kissed the back of her hand gently, and she realized she had not yet graced him with a kiss. She felt guilty for withholding the affection, but found that she could not bow down to kiss him yet. The room was too crowded with Podrick there, and she was very shy concerning the thought of kissing her lord husband in front of others.

"I will await my lord's clean return in the bed chamber," Sansa replied, innocently enough for Tyrion to realize that she did intend to sleep next to him, but no more. She was not sure if she was ready to allow him so close to her yet.

"I am eager to speak alone with you, my lady." Tyrion replied. Sansa smiled down at him kindly, then offered him the soap which he took. She turned from the room and left Tyrion to the warm bath as she too tried to sort out what she thought. And most importantly what she felt.

* * *

Tyrion reappeared in the room much cleaner than before, and he smelled of lilies and jasmine, a complaint he made known to her right away.

"I did not know you intended to sell me to a whore house," Tyrion wrinkled his scarred nose. "I certainly smell like one."

Sansa smiled at him from the foot of the bed where she was mindlessly pulling a needle through thread. "I did not intend anything for my lord other than smelling better than horses and sweat."

"You have won that victory, my lady," Tyrion replied.

Sansa had reddened a bit when he emerged from the dressing room as he came out with no clothes on his stunted body, he had even left the towel behind; though it was evident he used it as his body was dry. She had lowered her eyes to her stitching when he first came into her presence, but then soon forgot about modesty and looked at him when he spoke to her.

"Podrick took my clothes, the fool, when he left the dressing room and neglected to leave any more for me," Tyrion groaned. Sansa laughed gently at her husband's misfortune.

"Let me see if perhaps he brought some new clothes for you," Sansa offered, placing her stitching on the bed behind her as she rose.

She went to the main quarters to fetch the new breeches she had ordered made for him in the hopes of his present return (and was thankful that Podrick had some idea of what Tyrion's measurements might be), as well as a tunic, new small clothes, and a warm fur cloak. She had asked Podrick to bring it in case the night was cold as it had been since she had returned to White Harbor from her visits to neighboring cities to try and garner support. She spent many of her nights wrapped in furs and quilts, sometimes holding her son close to her side when she woke from nightmares about Lord Petyr rendering the young lord in half. She pushed the images from mind as she took the clothes in hand.

Returning, she found Tyrion's back to her as he examined the cloth before him, the intricate design she was making with the combined sigils of a direwolf and a lion. She had planned to make it into a pillow for Robb's cradle, an intimate place to remind her young son of the lionhearted courage of his father. She had shown only Lady Randa and Septa Elyse the needlepoint, knowing any other eyes would scold her. It was not Tyrion's observation of the handiwork that caught her eye, however, but his back.

His back was crisscrossed with thin red lines, some as short as from his shoulder blade to his mid back, others as long as from shoulder to hip. She could not help but gasp as she caught sight of the marks on his pale skin. Tyrion turned to face her when she took in the small quick inhale of air. His cheeks burned red as he took a step away from the bed.

"I was not intending to spy upon your work," Tyrion replied quickly, as if he were a youth standing trial for a spanking. "The craftsmanship is magnificent, I would not expect any less than such from my lady wife, naturally—"

"I take the compliment, my lord, but I take more concern for you back. What has someone done, Tyrion? I do not remember such scars from before," she asked as she came to his side. He looked at her quizzically, before nodding his head.

"It is really nothing, Sansa," he brushed it away and reached forward for the clothes in her hand. She let them go subconsciously, the sight of the scars on his back flooding her mind.

"I should say that those stripes are more than something," Sansa disagreed.

"I already told you that I had a master, and you should already know that I have a sharp tongue. The two combined usually means I ended up with a lashing or two after dinner." Tyrion shrugged his shoulders as he took the tunic in hand. Sansa reached out and paused him in the midst putting on the tunic.

"I want to see them again," she replied. Tyrion groaned, but reluctantly turned his back to her anyways. She reached out, hesitating for a second, before running her fingers down the raised marks. She thought of the time that she was nearly beaten and he had stepped in for her, saved her. Why had the gods allowed him to not be spared the same thing?

"They are nothing to worry yourself over, Sansa," Tyrion replied, turning and taking her hand by the wrist, placing a kiss in her palm. Sansa shook her head, standing and pulling away. "We may have much to tell one another."

"But those stories are for another time," Sansa replied, turning her back on Tyrion. She took to extinguishing some of the candles to dim the lights for sleeping before climbing into the bed. She watched out of the corner of her eye as he pulled the tunic over his head and then climbed onto the bed next to her.

The sinking of the mattress calmed her nerves; she did not realize she had tensed in the expectation of him coming to her side. He reached out to her, placing a hand on her. "May I join you in your bed?"

Sansa turned over on her side to face him. "I am finding I would prefer it."

"I am glad that you have not returned to your previous repulsion by me," he smiled, as he pulled himself under the covers. He sidled next to her, his warm body reflecting heat off of hers. "The winter nights are cold, and I spent much of the evening in the pouring rain. Your warmth is a welcomed comfort after all these months kept from you."

He reached out to cup her face gently, his thumb stroking the soft skin of her cheek. She leaned forward, and he placed a kiss on her forehead. Sansa turned her face upward and kissed him on his mouth.

His lips were still sweet with the wine, and they pulled against hers slowly, his tongue quickly asking for entrance. She allowed the kiss to deepen, her arms going about his neck. Tyrion kissed her hard, pulling himself closer to her body; she found her own hands gripping him about the bearded cheeks.

"Sansa, it has been too long since I have been with you and I can promise that my cock is in further need of your warmth than just my body," he broke the kiss and gasped. "If you do not wish to be with me in such a way, do not kiss me so."

Sansa felt her stomach lurch; she wanted to be connected with him as she had in the past, especially since she had found she had come to love him, but she also wondered if every thrust, every look into his eye would remind her of the bloody stare of Littlefinger.

She had not been with him in so long, and she still felt as if she owed him a kindness, her little lord husband. He had searched for her as any true knight would do for his longed for maiden.

So Sansa kissed him hard, her hands pulling at his tunic. He groaned in the kiss, reaching forward to caress her breast gently. Sansa froze, but the touch was gentle and teasing, not a grip upon her nipples, not rough hands that pulled at her skin and caused her to cry in pain. She kissed him again, but he broke off from her, trailing kisses down her cheek and jaw to settle into her neck, kissing the curve gently. Sansa gasped, her hand touching his cheek once more as he licked at the skin.

"I have missed you, Sansa," Tyrion murmured. Sansa pulled him closer to her with her arms, intercepting his kisses on her neck with kisses to his mouth. Tyrion's tongue was soon battling her own for control and she felt her woman's part wet with desire.

Her hands shook, however, as she pulled at his tunic. Tyrion took them in his smaller, thick hands and squeezed them tightly. "Why are you trembling, my wolf?"

"I do not know," Sansa shuddered. Tyrion looked at her, his twisted brow lifted upwards as he looked toward her.

"Did Lord Petyr touch you—?"

"I do not wish to talk about it," Sansa replied and leaned forward to kiss him. Tyrion pulled away.

"Sansa, how am I supposed to fuck you if you are shivering and crying beneath my touch?"

"I am sure it will pass," she replied. "I have not lain with a man since I last lay with you."

Tyrion caught her chin with his fingers as she leaned forward to kiss him once more. "Did he rape you, Sansa?"

"He is dead, what does it matter?" Sansa asked. "It is you I want to feel inside of me, my lord."

Tyrion continued to hold her jaw and attempt to do the same with her gaze. "I want to know if that dirty bastard laid any hands on you, my wife."

"He only stole a kiss or two," Sansa replied.

"He put his lips on you?" Tyrion asked. He leaned forward and placed his lips on the curve of her bottom lip. "Let me cleanse you of his touch, of his abuse." He kissed her again, his hands hard on her upper back as he pulled her close to him, her body against his.

She was eagerly awaiting lust to take over for him; when he was screaming with need to enter her he would stop his questions. Sansa moved closer, wrapping her arms around him and adjusted her shift so that her breasts tumbled forward to press against his tunic clad chest.

"Oh, these tits," Tyrion lowered to kissed the skin gently, avoiding her sensitive nipples. She felt his hand caress the curve of her breasts. He moved his hand down her belly as he kissed her tender mounds and his hand sneaked between her legs. Sansa moaned as he found her little hill.

She had forgotten the ecstasy of his rough but experienced touch. She had not been risen to the heights of passion since she last had joined with him the eve of the Royal Wedding before leaving him and foolishly running to the arms of a cruel captor. The thought made her throat burn.

Tyrion took to kissing her neck as his fingers worked between on the small hill which had remained asleep for too long. It did not take long for Sansa to grab fistfuls of his hair and shake in a body wrenching climax, letting out a whimper as she fought for control.

Tyrion wrapped his arms about her, pulling her close. She was ready to be disrobed and laid bare, steeling herself as best she could. But Tyrion only sidled closer to her and reached his hand down to pull the hem of his tunic up over his hips. With the hand nearest Sansa he pulled her to her side to face him. She looked down into his green eyes which burned with that hunger she had grown to be excited by in the walls of King's Landing. She found her attempts to try to harden her heart against him failed as he intimately caressed her body, his mouth hitting all her hidden sensitive places. He knew her body too well, and he had begun to creep into the understanding of her soul in his movements.

"Oh gods, Sansa, I cannot take the torture of being without you." He said as he reached down with his free hand. He grabbed the curve of her thigh, pulling at it. Her leg followed his tugs to travel up his body and rest on is waist. Sansa pressed her lower body against his as her leg reclined on the curve of his waist. He reached up to kiss her.

"If there is any part of this you want nothing to do with, tell me, my wolf. I will stop for you." He said. Sansa knew that she would keep quiet because she could not bear not allowing him to find solace in his release into her body.

She gasped when Tyrion entered her for the first time in near a year, grabbing for his tunic. He smirked as he looked up at her. He slowly pushed into her up to the hilt; she wrapped her hands in the fabric of his shirt as he entered her fully. He remained inside of her, strong and sure, and she took the moment to press her forehead to his, and let forth a shaky breath as he drew out as painfully slow. His entrances were slow and controlled, his exits leaving her wanting him back in her. Slowly he began to thrust with gradually more speed, and it was not long before he was exerting his force into rocking in and out of her body. Sansa held tight to the fabric, her head arching back as he took her.

He did not last long and she could feel his cock quiver in her depths, the warm heaviness of his seed filling her hollow body. She shivered as he pushed into her even more deeply, her calf wrapping around his lower back and pulling him closer as he continued to pulse inside of her. He was panting when he finally stopped.

"Do not leave me yet," Sansa begged. Tyrion placed a kiss on her breast and murmured into the fleshy skin.

"I will stay close."

He held her as she tucked her head into the pillow, her eyes heavy with sleep and her woman's parts filled with his seed. For a moment she felt as if the year was nothing more than a bad dream and she had woken to one of her many trysts with her little lord husband.

It was the image of Lord Petyr and his open grey eyes and his thin crimson necklace of blood before she fell asleep which ruined the moment and reminded her which was the dream and which was the bitter reality.


	46. Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a slight trigger warning as some sexual violence is recounted in this chapter; I just want you to be awares! Hope you enjoy this kinda fluffy, angsty chapter. - Lydia

Tyrion’s body was heavy with exhaustion, and his eyes fought to close for sleep, but his mind would not allow him to retreat to a restful night’s slumber. He should have fallen asleep easily having just expended his energy on his pretty wife’s woman parts, but even the quick fuck would not allow him to become quiet enough. Instead he took to watching Sansa’s face in the dim candlelight.

Her eyes closed soon after he had came to his end inside of her, his fingers running through her auburn hair. Her face was pale in the candlelight and it shadowed the dark lines under her eyes that he noticed for the first time. She was exhausted; his son probably did not help the haunted woman get a night’s sleep, but Tyrion was sure much more of it had to do with Petyr Baelish.  I wish I could resurrect him and then stab a dagger through his belly.  His heart had broken when he learned that the snake had placed his cold lips on Sansa’s warm mouth.

Tyrion reached forward and placed his fist under Sansa’s chin, his thumb reaching up to rest on her bottom lip. She was so beautiful and he wanted nothing more than to wake her and place his own lips upon hers. He would awaken himself once more and truly love her, causing her to shudder several times under his small weight.

He sighed, knowing that the last thing Sansa needed right now was his molestation; she had remained quiet under his touch, only grabbing wildly for him, not calling out his name. Tyrion leaned his body forward and placed a kiss on the woman’s forehead before turning over and rolling off the bed.

He went first to the dressing room to fetch the dragonfly necklace he had removed before bathing his dirt streaked body, placing the chain over his head and allowing it to fall about his neck. He tucked the pendant below his tunic, placing a hand over the thin material and holding it there for a few heartbeats.

He then left the dressing room and tip toed to the nursery, opening the door as quietly as the hinges would allow. He entered the dimly lit room, the rain hid the moon and was lashing against the windows. Tyrion turned to fetch a candle from Sansa’s bedroom before entering the room further.

The cradle that his son lay in was against the furthest wall, Tyrion’s stomach was churning with the bile that he felt when Sansa had introduced him to young Robb several hours prior. He was not sure then if he would empty his stomach’s contents all over Sansa or faint at the spinning thoughts in his head. He had a son, he had an heir.

The father peered over the wooden side of his son’s bed, looking onto the tiny face of Robb. The boy’s mouth was closed as he slept, his little face turned to his left shoulder. He wore a child’s shift of grey, his feet were adorned with woolen socks. The mop of hair he had upon his round head was a brassy red color, a perfect combination of Tyrion’s golden locks and Sansa’s auburn tresses.

Tyrion reached down to his son, brushing his finger along the side of the silken cheek. The baby stirred in his sleep, but did not waken at the caress. Tyrion felt his eyes well with tears again as the baby let out a nasally sleep sigh, his hands twitching at his sides.

“You are so very real, and so very perfect,” Tyrion murmured, his throat raw. “How could you possibly be a son of mine? You look to be the offspring of a strong tourney knight, the child of a handsome heir. Not the seed of a twisted, ugly bastard such as myself.”

Tyrion rested his arms onto the side of the cradle and he placed his head upon them, allowing his shoulders to shake with tears.  I never thought I would see my lady wife ever again, I never expected to keep my head this long. But she has found me, she has sought me, and she has presented me with the most beautiful child ever .

Tyrion stood and wiped at his tears, brushing them away with his forearms. He then placed a kiss on his stunted fingers and reached into the cradle to place them against his son’s temple.

He thought about going to search out a book in Sansa’s apartment and returning to the nursery to read quietly to his sleeping son when he heard his wife’s cries of distress. Tyrion took the candle quickly in hand and returned to the main sleeping quarters to see what the commotion was about. He cursed that he did not know where a weapon would be in the room in case someone had come in with the intentions of hurting Sansa.

When he reached the room he saw Sansa twisting about on the bed, crying out.  A nightmare . He had seen her squirm like this before, but her almost screams were too painful for him to allow her to ride out the memory and pray she would forget. Tyrion placed the lighting on the nightstand and climbed to the top of the bed. He placed his hands on his lady wife, grabbing hold of her wrists so she would stop her flinging.

“Sansa,” he spoke up, shaking her gently. “Sansa, my love, wake up.”

Sansa’s blue eyes shot open, her pupils constricted as she panted for breath. Tyrion felt her arms wrestle for control and he let go of her. She climbed from under the covers, her body shivering as she crawled to the end of the bed. Her heavy breasts were still exposed and the skirts were hitched to her mid thigh.

“Sansa,” Tyrion reached out for her. It took her a couple deep breaths for her to relax, adjusting her clothing so that she was completely covered once more.

“I am sorry, Tyrion.” Her eyes were filled with tears as she wrapped her arms about her body. Tyrion took hold of the end of the comforter, standing and walking to her side, wrapping the blanket about her body. He held her tightly in his arms once more, placing a kiss on the side of her neck. He was relieved when he felt Sansa’s body relax into his, her temple falling to rest on his chest.

“There is no need for apologies, Sansa. Are you in want for anything to drink?” He ran his knuckles along her cheek which was slick with sweat. He groaned inwardly at the fear she was trying to suppress.

“No,” Sansa shook her head. Tyrion placed another reassuring kiss on the top of her head. “I insist that you return to sleep, my lord. I will just go out in the main apartments and sit in the quiet for a spell.”

“I was not sleeping, my love,” Tyrion ran his hands through her long auburn hair which spilled over her shoulder. “And I will not sleep soundly with the thought of you up and about with demons in your head.”

“I am fine, my lord,” Sansa replied, pulling from him.

“I have known you well enough now to know when you are lying. I have had time to reflect on the clues that you left before you ran from me.” Tyrion assured him Sansa closed his eyes, the look on her face filled with pain.

She pulled from him, laying down on her side on the bed. Tyrion settled into the place next to her, sitting at her side, his arm wrapping about her shoulder and his hand reaching down to stroke her cheek.

“It was Littlefinger and the Queen of Thorns who arranged the poison,” Sansa spoke up. Tyrion looked down at Sansa, glad she was still speaking to him instead of walling herself off. He feared that any of the hope he had gained in wrestling her from her courtesies in King’s Landing would be lost in their separation.

“Was it?” Tyrion asked.

“Lord Baelish told me. It was in the gems in the hairnet I was given. He had given it to me, if you remember.” She sighed as she twisted over to lay on her back and looked up at him. 

“I do,” he assured her. Her blue eyes were still shimmering with tears, when one let loose he chased it away from her cheek with his thumb. She smiled up weakly at him.

“Lady Olenna took one when she adjusted the piece the day of the wedding. I understand that now.” Sansa placed her hand on his thigh.

“She was certainly a crafty lady, even in her advanced age. And she wanted her family to be contenders for that crown, there is no doubting that.” Tyrion stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckle.

“And it was Ser Dontos who helped me escape in the chaos of the wedding. He was there in the godswood where I had hid clothes to help in the rescue. He held my hand tightly, even though I was picking him up because he was so drunk. He led me to the shores where we were rowed to a boat sitting out in the bay. Lord Petyr was aboard that boat and that was when he told me what he had done. And that you were blamed for the incident,” Sansa said. “He assured me that I would be widowed and done with you.”

Tyrion felt his heart crush at the prospect of the joy her face might have looked like when given that promise.

“I did not mean for you to be taken to trial,” Sansa bent her elbow now, to place her arm against his, her fingers playing with the sems at the shoulder of his tunic. “I did not want you to die.” She had been paying attention to her fiddling and not to him, but when she spoke of not wanting his death, her blue eyes looked at him, and he knew she was telling the truth. “I was scared for you.”

“I returned,” Tyrion assured her. Sansa’s fiddling became a grip as she pulled herself up against him, placing a kiss on his mouth.

“I realized your kindness when I was taken away from you,” she kissed him again. Tyrion felt his body awaken, but he knew that now was not the time to untangle her body from the sheets and have his way with her.

“I love you, Sansa,” Tyrion said, his thumb running along her cheek. “I was broken when you left me.”

“Take comfort in the truth that Lord Petyr did not treat me well. I wanted to be back with you, for you kindness and your mercy, for you wanting me. He only wanted to have my body, he wanted me to become my mother. He wanted me in the all the ways you have had me, and I did not want to give that to him.”

“Hush, Sansa,” Tyrion placed a kiss on her mouth again, wiping away the tears which streamed down her face.

“When I heard you escape, I had hope that I would find you once more.” She smiled sadly. “I was so heavy with child and all I wanted was your embrace and kiss.”

“Did Lord Petyr touch you at all?” Tyrion asked.

“He grabbed my wrist once, and he stole a kiss or two.” Tyrion could tell she was lying, perhaps to not hurt him or anger him with the honest truth. “My Aunt Lysa was the one who did most of the abuse to me. He married her, to gain rights to the Vale. And he had me disguise myself as his daughter. Aunt Lysa made me darken my hair hair with dyes and I had to pretend that she was Lady Lysa to me and not Aunt Lysa.” Sansa sighed. “Family meant nothing. Lord Petyr—he kissed me one day. I was not of wanting, and he did it after I scolded Lord Robert for his cruelty. And Aunt Lysa was angry with me.” Sansa shuddered under Tyrion’s arms. “Kiss me so I should forget such cold lips.”

Tyrion did so, his mouth hot on Sansa’s, his hand caressing her cheek as he kissed her deeply. She kissed him back, her hands wrapping about his face. “It is strange to kiss you with a beard around your lips.”

“I will have Podrick shave me clean so that I may kiss you as I used to.” Tyrion smiled at her, looking into eyes that were right before him. Sansa smiled weakly once more, her thumb stroking the hair on his cheek.

“Lord Petyr shaved his face for Aunt Lysa. She loved him so very dearly, but he had only eyes for my mother. Even when he was with me, he oft mistook me for her. I could see it in his eyes.” Sansa said quietly.

“Your mother was a very beautiful woman, as you are, Sansa. But you are a Stark through and through, not a Tully as your mother was.” He assured him. Sansa curled forward against his chest, her head tucking beneath his chin. Her legs beside him curled at the knees and she rest her weight into his body.

“I am not brave like a Stark; I should have told you, I should have not trusted Lord Petyr so freely as I did.”

“Inexperience should not be mistaken for a lack of bravery. You carried the son conceived of a union with the Stark’s most hated enemy. You risked what you could to get Winterfell back,” Tyrion assured her gently. “That is bravery, my lady.”

“I did not feel brave when my aunt had me held over the Moon Door,” Sansa murmured. “I felt scared and alone.”

Tyrion’s body stiffened as she spoke of the Moon Door, the same end he was offered when accused of trying to murder his now goodbrother, Bran. “She held you over the Moon Door?”

“She knew that Lord Petyr wanted me, she knew that I was pregnant. She was angry with me, she blamed me for the lack of Lord Petyr’s love and she wanted me to be gone.”

“I am sorry, my lady, that I was not there to rescue you.”

“Lord Petyr did, else I would not be where I am now.”

“Did he know?” Tyrion asked. He could feel his wife shake her head in the negative against his chest.

“No, I did not wish to tell him in case he tried to slip me a bit of moon tea without my knowing.” She said. “We then went to the Gates of the Moon and that was where I met Myranda Royce. She took me and protected me as best she could against Littlefinger. Her father and her brother soon joined in my protection against him.”

Tyrion stroked her pretty hair while he silently listened to her tale. “We met Podrick and Lady Brienne soon after when they were traveling north through the Bloody Gate. Seems that even though we dyed my hair, people still knew that Sansa Stark was seen north. However, having a baby in my belly certainly made me less recognizable.”

“I understand now why you wanted to keep our union secret.” Tyrion acknowledged her cunning.

“I wanted to make sure that people knew I was with child only when I wanted them to, until I became too big to hide it any longer.” Sansa replied. “Lord Petyr knew it was your child. Perhaps because I was not so good at calling you the Imp or I kept defending your kindness to me—maybe that was why he knew that it was not my aunt’s songboy who raped me, but my lord husband who I had chosen to take my maidenhead.”

Tyrion felt his heart well with happiness and pride when she admitted to defending his name and honor among enemies. Perhaps she did love him, as she had told him the night before. Sansa twisted from his grip to look at him once more, pulling entirely from his arms so she could sit on her hip before him. She pulled the thick down comforter about her shoulders, Tyrion reaching out to pull the ends together to complete her cocoon. He did not resist the urge to use them to pull her closer, placing another kiss on her mouth. Sansa continued to respond back with every touch he gave her.

“I got your vengeance, my lord,” Sansa said as his mouth hovered close to hers on the verge of kissing her once again. “When Lord Petyr kept trying to get me to marry him, I agreed to it. I knew that matrimony was the only way for me to get his guard down enough to remove him from the game. A life to pay for the ones he stole.”

“Oh, Sansa, you should not have done—“ Tyrion began.

“I know what he did to my father. And I wish that you had told me. I would have listened to you,” Sansa’s eyes hardened for a moment. Tyrion hung his head.

“I know, Sansa. But I could not break your heart again. You had been forced to marry me, your brother and mother were senselessly slaughtered by my father’s command, do you think I could see your face when you were hurt once more?” Tyrion explained. “I was too weak to see you  break.”

Sansa leaned forward and kissed the top of his head, then reached out and ran her thumb down the scar on his cheek, her river blue eyes tracing the jagged skin. “I killed him because he had my father killed, he killed Sweetrobin, he had you blamed for Joffrey’s death after embarrassing you with that foul show. It was his idea to hire those….dwarves,” she hesitated while saying it and Tyrion could see the rage behind her own. He knew that she was doubly wounded by the encounter as he was; both had received personal insult in the show and both felt empathy for the other’s suffering.

“I should have known it was some sneak like Littlefinger; Joffrey would not be smart enough to think of that on his own. Petyr was unwise in harming you in the parade.”

“I do not think he cared, he saw it as an opportunity to teach me to push my feelings away, turn me into his pretty pawn on the board of the game he called a game of thrones. It was too bad he soon turned the pawn into a Queen, and one who did not wish to protect a knight when he loyalties lay to the King.” Sansa said. “I could not allow him to continue in the game without punishment.”

“So you extracted your own with your own hands,” Tyrion smirked as he looked up at her. “And you doubt the Direwolf blood running through your veins.”

Sansa did not smile, but her eyes softened. “I stabbed him in the shoulder and the belly and then I cut his throat.” Sansa’s voice was wooden as she looked at her hands. “There was blood everywhere. My legs and hips were covered in it.” She looked up at him. “I was supposed to be with him, but I could not bear the thought of his manhood being in me, I could not bear the thought of his hips thrusting against my backside as he hurt me.” Sansa said. “He would have wanted to; he would have wanted to take me as fully as he could.”

Tyrion felt his gaze waiver as his wife confessed that she had almost fucked the greedy bastard who had stolen her away from her husband. He was also filled with the desire to fuck her himself, as a way of reclaiming what was his.  But she is not mine, she is a wolf; she belongs to Winterfell.

“I am sorry to disappoint you, my lord.” Sansa said sadly. Tyrion shook his head.

“You do not disappoint, my lady wife. Besides, I have confessions of my own to make, please do not apologize for your actions when mine are much more craven.” Tyrion said. “Did I hurt you? When I fucked you tonight, did I hurt you?”

“When you lay with me last night you were as kind as you have always been,” Sansa assured him.

“I am not always gentle with women, Sansa, do not think it in my nature,” he thought of the whore he had fucked in his drunken rage at the port. He had hurt her, taking his anger and sadness out on her prone body. He had wanted to lose himself in that woman’s cunt because he could not find joy in his wife’s. It was shameful and dishonest, and he felt dirty sitting before his wife. How dare he be able to take joy in her embrace, fuck her as he burst with happiness when he had done such cruel things? When he had betrayed his vows to her as she kept her vows for him. So he tried to turn the subject back to Sansa’s night terror instead.

“So was it Lord Petyr haunting your dreams?” Tyrion changed the subject instead of trying to reason through it.

“I keep seeing my hands filled with blood and his face haunting mine.” Sansa’s voice shook. “And I thought you were…in the midst of physically fulfilling me in my dream tonight, but it was Lord Petyr and he turned me over and there was your head on a…” she shook her head. Tyrion reached for her, drawing her close.

“My head is firmly on my neck thanks to you,” Tyrion stroked the back of her head again. Sansa shuddered.

“He made me look into your eyes as he…” Sansa closed her eyes. “I feel so filthy speaking such words to even you, my lord.”

“I am a man of many perversions; no words must allow you to think you will shock me,” Tyrion assured her.

“It is not the perversions which make me bold, my lord, but the fact that you have been with me in such ways.” Sansa explained. Tyrion frowned. “It makes me sick to think back on the images in my head, the thought of those grey eyes watching my body as it moved beneath him.”

Tyrion reached forward and placed his hand on her mouth. “If it pains my lady, speak of it no more.”

“These images have been haunting me, my lord, in my dreams,” Sansa’s eyes looked to him as she grabbed his wrist. “I wake up some nights sick from the thoughts.”

His heart hurt for the pain he saw in her blue eyes. She was haunted by the death of the man whose throat she cut. She was not a lady of war; she fought with courtesies and with charm. Tyrion took her hand in his, sitting before her in quiet.

“I am weak woman for allowing such acts to haunt me; I am a stupid girl.” Sansa spoke up.

“No, my sweet wolf, you were raised to be a lady. You were not meant to cut throats with your hands, you were meant to cut hearts with your words.” Tyrion silenced her self deprecation. “You are no wheres near a stupid girl, else you would not have be here in my arms, with houses dedicating their loyalties to your cause.”

Sansa smiled with more energy at him this time. Tyrion was joyed to see that some of the sadness had leaked from her bones. He kissed her once more on the lips, this time more deeply and with purpose. Sansa groaned in the liplock, her hand running down his stomach.

“I can help you forget the cold slither of the snake, Sansa, if you wish me to.” Tyrion said. Sansa’s hand was on his thigh, her eyes before him. “For you my touch will always be gentle.”

Sansa kissed him once more and Tyrion hoped that the kiss was an invitation to wrap his arms about her. He wanted to make her forget about the touches of Lord Baelish, to remember the ways he had grown to love her. He felt himself grow hard at the thought.  I am a man of perversions. Hearing of my wife tormented by the memory of a man who wanted her, and now going forth to fuck her. 

Sansa flinched as he pushed her to her side, her body pulling away from him as his weight crashed atop her. Tyrion paused, praying that she would not refuse him. He kissed the curve of her shoulder gently, feeling for her breasts once more under the shift. Sansa shuddered under the touch, and he was reminded how his naïve little wife loved having her tits provoked. He kissed the skin bordering the hemline of her shift, pushing aside the fabric so that he could begin to kiss further south.

He was reminded in that instant of her standing before their wedding night bed, her finger on the sleeve of her shift to pull it from her, her blue eyes dulled with grief and dread. He could not stand to see her hurt any longer, so he had commanded her stop, insisted that he would not sleep with her until she was in want of it.

Was she in want of him now? Could she ever become the Sansa who he was teaching to bloom under his touch? Tyrion wished now that he had gotten up to get Sansa a glass of wine when she awoke from the nightmare, he was in strong desire of it, trying to push the thoughts of a sad Sansa from his mind to focus on the wife before him.

He shifted and the pendant below his tunic fell forward, dancing in the air between Sansa and Tyrion as he leaned over her. Sansa bent her upper body to sit up and take hold of the silver dragonfly dancing between the two.

“You kept the necklace,” Sansa’s thumb traced the long body of the metal insect. Tyrion wrapped his hand about hers and the pendant.

“You gave it to me, I kept it close my entire journey,” Tyrion responded.

“You did not tell me where you have been, my lord.”

“There is time to tell of my tales another day, Sansa,” Tyrion said, leaning forward to kiss her. “I will not allow you to run from me any longer.”

Sansa smiled up at him, her reaction genuine and warm beneath him. She took hold of the pendant again, her fingers twirling the dragonfly back and forth as her blue eyes swam with unspoken thoughts. Tyrion could see it in her moving eyes, looking from her necklace to his eyes. He took hold of her left hand, pulling it towards him.

“You kept my token to you, my love.” Tyrion kissed her knuckles as he displayed the lion’s head in the dim light.

“I had to remove it during my time with child some days, my hand was so swollen,” Sansa sighed. “I was so swollen, my belly was bigger than King Robert’s belly when he was alive.”

Tyrion laughed at her comparison. “I am sure you were still absolutely beautiful, Sansa.”

“I did not feel so, and I had to have Podrick act as my walking stick most of the time. My feet were so unstable,” she smiled.

“In the future I will help you, Sansa. I will take your arm and lead you.” Tyrion assured her, his body growing tense with the anticipation of joining with her once again. Sansa tensed underneath him. “Not now, my love, but when we have taken Winterfell back for you.”

Sansa sat up, forcing him to retreat to the mattress before her. “You saved King’s Landing from Stannis’ army, my lord.”

“I did, Sansa, but that was a lifetime and a less ugly face ago,” Tyrion reached forward to take a lock of her hair and twirl it in his fingers.

“But you were commended for your planning and strategy, your clever mind.” Sansa noted. Tyrion felt his cheeks flush at the subtle reminder of his bravery.

“I suppose that would be the reason I came up with such  thoughts; it does help to live life a bit…disadvantaged and having to see things from other viewpoints.” Tyrion kissed her jawline. Sansa complied and kissed him deeply, but pulled her mouth from his.

“I told you that I am Queen of the North,” Sansa interrupted his want to take her body.

“I was informed that by several people,” Tyrion sat back, frustrated that she intervened with her questions. “Though, are you sure you want to take such a title, my wolf? Your brother crowned himself King in the North while still fighting his battles and he was…”

“I know what happened with my brother and my mother,” Sansa’s eyes flashed angrily. Tyrion groaned at his careless mistake; he was beginning to think with his cock and not with his senses.

“Yes, Sansa, I was not trying to bring up such terrible atrocities to your mind to grieve you further.” He reached for her hand. “I just do not wish to see you succumb to death because others see you as a threat.”

“Stannis and the Boltons are at one another’s throats, the attention is elsewhere,” Sansa reasoned with him. Tyrion grumbled as he pushed himself from the mattress. He had never made love to a woman who spoke war and politics, but he knew from his sister that when she was preoccupied with her mission she could not be separated from the ideas.

“Tyrion?” Sansa asked after him.

“If we are to talk wars and kingdoms I need to get a drink of wine. It will bring back such fond memories of my short time as Hand. Until my father so kindly took it from me,” he swore as he waddled through the pillows and into the next room. He heard Sansa’s feet pad after him.

He poured two glasses of wine from the decanter on the table, holding one out to Sansa when she joined his side. She took it hesitantly, but did not imitate him in taking a large draught of the liquid as soon as the cup was in hand. She went to the table and placed the glass on the surface, continuing to watch him as he downed his cup and poured another. Tyrion took his cup to the next room and relaxed into the pillows. He closed his eyes and took another drink of the heady wine, glad to fill his belly and senses with the beverage. Sansa followed him once again and settled onto the floor next to him.

“Did you enjoy your time as hand?” Sansa asked. Tyrion looked at her over the lip of the cup as he drank more wine.

“It was not the most joyous of my memories, but it did give me something to do when the kingdom was falling apart.” Tyrion narrowed his eyes and looked at her. “Why are you asking me such questions, Sansa?”

Sansa flushed as she looked at him, her breastbone turning a lovely shade of pink. Tyrion wanted to see the breasts which laid below as the wine began to fill his senses.

“I will have to convince the counsel, and I am sure they will object at first, but perhaps you could talk with them and show them that you want to help me.” Sansa began.

“You want me to become your Hand, is that what you are asking?” Tyrion looked over at his pretty young wife who was willing to take the heavy weight of the crown of the North.

“You would be the Queen’s Hand, ruling at my side,” Sansa explained. “I trust you, Tyrion. You have treated me kindly, you have respected my wishes even when they did not make sense, you have rescued me from awkward situations, and you are a clever man. I would trust no one as I would you. It is not something I ask out of favoritism.”

He could see it in her eyes; she was thinking pragmatically, she truly did trust him even though he knew she had no business to. “You could always choose Podrick, he has proven to be a right young lad.”

Sansa looked over to him with stern blue eyes, and for a moment he could see the no nonsense look her mother had shot him one too many times while he remained in her capture. Tyrion laughed.

“Fine, my young wife, I will be your champion if you wish,” Tyrion assured her, taking another drink of wine. “But how are you going to convince the men of the North that a Lannister is going to be giving you instruction?”

Sansa bit her lip. “That is the one obstacle that I am not sure about; they will not willingly accept you as King in the North. I was hoping that the Queen’s Hand would be the opportunity to keep you within my courts.”

“You are a kindness, Sansa Stark.” Tyrion reached out to take her hand and kissed the back of it.

“You were one first, my lord, when you treated me kindly among my enemies.” Sansa replied. She climbed over several pillows to sit before him. “I know that you understand kindness, and I know that you understand justice.”

“I understand very few things, Sansa.” Tyrion shook his head. “I just care for very crucial things. I told your brother Robb that I have a special place in my heart for cripples, bastards, and broken things.” He leaned forward and kissed her, pulling her atop of him. “And you are proving that broken things are the most dangerous with their sharp edges.”

He kissed Sansa once more before rolling over so she was beneath him. He placed the wine cup as far as he could reach it and hoped it would be safe for the time being. He then shifted his tunic about his hips and her shift about hers. She opened her legs and he entered her with a pleasurable gasp, taking her once more as the skies outside lightened to enter in a rainy morning.


	47. Council

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a late publish today, but here it is nonetheless. Yes, DtC is going to become a little more political, but worry not, it just provides a catalyst for our couple to grow stronger or to fall apart- we'll have to explore their relationship together. Enjoy. And leave a review if you wouldn't mind taking a moment, I love hearing feedback- good and bad alike

Sansa stood before Ser Albar, Ser Harry, and Lady Myranda in the great hall, her blue eyes iced with indignation and her pink mouth turned into a pout. She stood tall, her hand crossed before her hips, clad in a grey velvet dress with black patterning, her auburn hair pulled back at her ears and left to cascade down her back.

"Lady Sansa, we are not sure we can trust your decision making," Ser Harry spoke, breaking the forming tension in the steady silence. He was sitting in a great chair, his legs splayed before him and his elbow resting on the arm, his chin roosted on his fist as he looked down at Sansa with his storm blue eyes.

"You speak merely for yourself," Lady Myranda said.

"I find myself wanting to agree with the Lord of the Vale," Ser Albar reasoned with his sister. "We are not speaking of a commoner who had Lady Sansa as a wife; we are speaking of Lord Tyrion _Lannister_. What pure motive can there be in him returning to her when she is rearing his child? Surely he wants to have his lion's claws deep into the workings of Winterfell. Do you think him so benign?"

"I do not think he would risk returning to Westeros with his bitch sister wanting his head." Myranda replied, crossing her arms before her ample bosom. "I think he would be insane, if he is anything."

Sansa wanted to shout at them, to tell them that she had returned to her husband as his true wife. That if she could trust him with the very delicate workings of her body, they should trust him as well. "My dear friends, I promise you that you can put your trust in Lord Tyrion. He kept me well in King's Landing as I was surrounded in the lion's den."

"Only to win your trust, Lady Sansa. You cannot be deceived by someone as easily as that." Ser Harry shook his head. "If he wanted to earn your trust, all he had to do was treat you well."

"I am not so foolish to think Sansa as naïve as that. Do you think it takes naiveté and innocence to do what she did to Littlefinger?" Lady Randa asked as she looked over at the night with burning eyes.

"We still must hold her on trial for that as well," Harry looked back over to the lady. "She has escaped the justice of a fair hearing; we do not know what occurred in that room that night any more than we know we can trust Lady Sansa's Imp."

"You cannot be serious, ser," Sansa paled as she looked across at the man in front of her. She knew that he was in want of her hand in marriage, for the sake of political alliances, and her staying married to a Lannister was ruining his future plans. But _this_? To accuse Sansa of ill placed malice in her murder of Lord Petyr? Sansa wanted to tell him that, yes, she had killed the rotten snake, but she had done it because no one else knew of the horrible things he had done and it was up to her to extract justice. Just as her father taught her and her siblings growing up in the sheltered walls of Winterfell.

"Are you against the Starks taking the Northern cause, Ser Harry?" Lady Randa was intent on waging her own war against the handsome young knight in front of the small court.

"Why would you accuse me of such treachery, my lady?" Ser Harry was indignant; his blue eyes were icy as he looked over to the older woman.

"You seem to want to drag Sansa from her position as inheritor to Winterfell; accusing her of murdering her gooduncle and her new husband, and questioning her judgment."

"Is that not what the council is for, my lady?" Ser Harry replied. Sansa wanted to intervene, but she would not risk the wrath of Myranda Royce, especially since she was arguing in her defense.

"Randa, Ser Harry is correct," Ser Albar finally spoke. "We are here to be sure that all decisions that Sansa Stark makes are good ones and are not based on emotion."

"Thank you, Ser Albar," Harry looked like a young child as he pridefully glanced over to Albar's sister. Sansa sighed. _Some council you make for me, Ser Harry._

"However," Albar did not stop when Harry began again. "I do not think Sansa is as foolish as you play her to be, young knight."

"I am not asking for him to be put on the council this very moment," Sansa entreated. "I am just pleading that he is spared from execution, done either by your hands or his sister's hands, if he you had planned to hand him over to her; there is no need to shed further blood and I owe him my son."

"A son he forced on you in your captivity, Sansa," Harry insisted. "You are the beautiful daughter of Catelyn Tully, a strong daughter of Eddard Stark. I knew of him and his bravery when I was growing up in the Vale. I heard of how his wife was a beautiful woman, if not a bit silly and headstrong." He stood from his seat, approaching Sansa, his boots tapping across the stone floor. "And you, Sansa Stark, the beauty of your mother, the fortitude of your father, you come to us and you tell me that you allowed a Lannister to take your maidenhead because you wished him to?"

He was standing in front of Sansa, he was close to her, toe to toe, his head above her, his face tipped down to look her in the eyes. He was a very handsome man, his face lacking flaws, and she could see why he collected bastard women's maidenheads like he collected tourney victories. Had she been thirteen and promised to him, she would have counted the days until her flowering and subsequent bedding.

"When I was a young girl I prayed to the gods that I would meet a handsome and brave knight as yourself, Ser Harry." Sansa felt him take her hand in his, kissing it chivalrously. "I wanted a man who could save me when I was in peril; a man who would give me honor and who would love me. And I thought that perhaps the only men who were capable of this were men like you, ser.

"And then I was engaged to King Robert's son, Joffrey Baratheon, a boy with shining green eyes and beautiful blonde hair," she wrest her hand from his, reaching up to pull at the tufts of Harry's blonde head. "Perhaps his hair is even more rich than yours, his mother's purse certainly was. But my father did not want me to marry Joffrey. He knew better." Sansa's cheeks warmed at the thought of her father, his promise to her and one he would have kept had he lived. "He promised me that he would find me a worthy match, one who was brave, gentle and strong. I thought that because of Joffrey's beauty, his beginning charm, that he was a man who had all of those traits. But he was a boy. And he tortured me."

"Sansa, that past is behind you," Ser Harry assured her, reaching toward her again.

"I did find a lord who was brave, gentle, and strong. He treated me well when I was being savaged by lions; he risked his skin and reputation in court on several occasions to save me from further abuse. One included our wedding night, where he was kind enough to let me keep my maidenhead. Had I come to you over a year ago, I might have come a maiden, I might have come untouched. The gods only know what the future holds, and I did not."

"Sansa, you are free from the prisoner of King's Landing. I assure you that Ser Albar and I will personally assure that you will not be harmed." Sansa looked Harry in his eyes, offering him the same icy stare he had given her friend.

"You are a beautiful knight who has won many tournaments and given many favors to pretty young girls as myself," Sansa pulled away from him. "You are brave, of that I am sure, and you are strong, I have no doubt. You lack gentleness, good ser. You lack the ability to listen without hearing what you wish to hear."

"Sansa," Ser Harry shook his head.

"Lord Tyrion, though not a man many would choose as a suitable match when looked upon, he has been the lord my father promised me once. He has earned the right to stand next to me in my freedom as he allowed me to stand next to him, and he held me up in my cage." Sansa said, swallowing back the burning knot in her throat. "I am going to remain with my lord husband, and he will not be sent to his sister to have his head removed from his neck."

"You speak boldly, my lady." Ser Harry groaned. He turned back to where Ser Albar and Lady Randa sat. Ser Albar crossed his arms before his chest while Lady Randa leaned against the arm of the chair, a satisfied smirk on her red lips.

"You did declare her Queen of the North," Lady Randa spoke for Sansa. "You promised the Vale and its men to her, since little Lord Robert was killed…by the man who tried to harm Sansa on the night of their wedding feast."

"Randa, let the man lick his wounds," Ser Albar scolded his sister as his brown eyes looked down at the knight with a satisfied glance.

"We should send for the lord, let him declare for himself that he is not here under any false pretenses, that he does not wish to eventually raise his son to be ruthless Lannister," Ser Harry looked at Ser Albar desperately. Sansa frowned, but she knew that keeping her husband behind closed doors would garner further suspicion. "And I am sure that Lady Sansa will be eager to want to petition after we examine his merits that her lord husband be admitted to our council."

"I cannot believe we are entertaining the notion of a lady who has clearly been under duress; would it not be better to have the level head for her?" Harry looked back at Sansa. "Many knights make bad mistakes when they are filled with passion; I see the case is not different for our Queen."

"Have Lord Tyrion sent for," Sansa declared, turning to Podrick who stood faithfully in the corner of the room, ignoring Harry's criticism altogether.

"We should bring this meeting into the council room, my lady," Ser Albar stood, his hand going to the sword he had rested against the side of the chair he sat in. "There is no need for further discussion here in the court, I am sure that these lords and ladies know what the decision is regarding your lord husband. We have declared you as Queen, and though we act as your advisors on this council, you ultimately will have say."

"I just wish to know that I am not alone in welcoming Lord Tyrion to court," Sansa replied to Lord Albar, her fingers curling in her skirts as her heart pounded at the prospect of winning over Ser Harry's jealousy.

"I would like to know from the Imp's mouth, that he is loyal to the Northern cause." Lord Wyman interrupted Ser Albar's declaration as he entered through the great hall doors. "I wish to know that the family I have risked life and limb to protect is going to be preserved, not torn apart by the paws of a laughable lion."

Sansa looked over to the enormous lord who entered the great hall doors with a limp and a grimace, but she knew she had to agree to his presence as well. _I must be as transparent as glass, if I am to gain their trust. They are too shrewd to be deceived with word games, and I am not a clever enough player._ "I have sent Ser Podrick to my apartments, he is to fetch Lord Tyrion and bring him to the council room, he is to speak his mind."

Two of the knights by the door left as Lord Wyman entered the hall, following Ser Albar and Ser Harry through a door on the far side of the room. Lady Myranda waited for the court to dismiss and for Sansa to begin moving toward the room where the three men had gone before she stood from her chair.

"Your little lord husband speaking his mind," she flushed with glee as she approached Sansa. "My, what things we are destined to hear. All the confession he made in the presence of Lady Lysa and your mother when they brought him to the Eyrie were certainly tales a plenty."

"He was at the Vale because my mother believed he sent a man to murder Bran, was he not?" Sansa asked sadly. Lady Myranda took Sansa's arm, wrapping hers about it.

"He was, but he was much too clever to be accused of such a crime."

"He would not have commanded such a thing," Sansa turned to look at Randa.

"And why are you so sure, my lady?"

"I know as confidently as I did in my trust that he did not kill Joffrey. I just do." Sansa walked arm in arm with the woman to the council room, their soft slippers padding along the stone floor.

"You fucked him last night, did you not?" Randa giggled.

"Lady Myranda!" Sansa scolded.

"That only furthers the evidence that you did." She nudged Sansa good naturedly. "Do not worry, I will not tell Ser Harry. It'd get his cock all twisted in a bind at the thought of your lord husband fucking you and him being left out in the cold halls of White Harbor."

"People call you the Lady of the Gates of the Moon." Sansa shook her head.

"I am the one who is on your side, be careful not to insult your allies," Randa continued in her teasing as Sansa started to flush at her light hearted and inappropriate accusations. Sansa rolled her eyes; she knew the one girl she would not lose allegiance with would be the bright eyed, bold mouthed Royce girl who would rally the entire Vale against Ser Harry's command for her Stark Queen.

* * *

Sansa sat next to Myranda and across from Sers Harry and Albar, Lord Wyman taking the chair at the head of the table. The chair at the opposite end, nearest Sansa, was left open for Lord Tyrion when he arrived. The wait was slow and painful, and Sansa wanted nothing more than for it to be over, for Tyrion to be safely at the table with the mark of the Hand of the crown on his doublet.

She jumped when the door did open, Podrick entering first, his pale face was blanched as he looked at Sansa, though his dark eyes did meet hers. "Lord Tyrion, m'ladies, sers, and m'lord."

The door opened further for Tyrion to enter. He was dressed in a black leather jerkin; the white sleeves of the tunic he wore to bed last night covered his arms. He had put the breeches on and she was pleased to see that they fit well. Podrick had shaved the rest of Tyrion's mismatched beard during the earlier council meeting, and aside from looking exhausted, he was looking most like himself.

"I have been called before the council, I have been told." Tyrion entered slowly, his green eyes looking about the men and women around the table, landing last on Sansa.

"We wish to know where your allegiances lie in regards to our Queen Sansa and our future King, Robbert." Ser Harry spoke.

"Lord Tyrion, come and sit at the end of my table," Lord Wyman interrupted Harry's interrogation. "I wish my guests comfort in my house, you have taken the bread and salt, you are a guest in my home."

"I have not been given any," Tyrion eyed the lord queerly.

"Then, Podrick, be a good boy and fetch some so I can promise Lord Tyrion here that we mean him no harm; we honor our vows in White Harbor." Sansa knew that Lord Wyman was harboring ill toward the Freys, and it was no secret that Lord Tywin had given the command for the Starks to be slaughtered at their wedding; no doubt he counted Tyrion among them.

"Then I thank you, Lord Wyman." Tyrion looked to Sansa questioningly, but she could only look to the floor. Tyrion took to the chair next to her, his right arm resting on the table top as he turned his body ever so slightly to face her.

"I am sure you knew about the slaughter of the Starks at the Frey wedding, and I wish to keep such tragedy from ever happening again. You were on the council then, were you not?"

"You surprise me with your knowledge, Lord Wyman." Tyrion answered. Sansa felt her throat catch. "I was told about the atrocity after it had been carried out."

"You are saying you did not know about the plan to cut Lady Catelyn's neck to the bone and for Robb Stark's head to be rendered from his neck and his direwolf's put there instead?"

"I confess I do not; if I had, would I really wish to subject my poor lady wife to more torture and heartbreak by killing off the rest of her family by whole heartedly agreeing to it? Writing the instructions with my own hand? Do not think me so cruel, Lord Wyman," Tyrion's green eyes narrowed and steeled as he leaned against the table, his words sharp and his mouth angry. "And I do not think we need to relive the cruelty done to Catelyn and Robb Stark for their daughter and sister to relive."

"She would not have had to live it had you perhaps intervened further."

"How was I to stop my lord father when he barely counted me a son?" Tyrion laughed woodenly, the reaction a mock at the lord's accusation and not in genuine mirth. "I knew the marriage between Sansa and I was a cruel joke to her, but I promise I am not responsible for the further tragedy. Joffrey wished to serve her brother's head to her on a platter on the king's wedding night. I am surprised my objection to such cruelty was obeyed. Perhaps it was my lord father who stopped even that horrible act."

Sansa did not know of this; she would have broken if she had seen Robb's head before hers, his blue eyes blank and his mouth stained with blood. She felt ill as the thought of his dead head reminded her of the blank face of Petyr Baelish.

"Yet you slept with this girl, you took her maidenhead, and you claim that you did not wish any further cruelty dealt her. Even if she did offer herself up to her, could you not have refused to bed the child? The young maiden who was forced to marry you, a cruel jape as you admit readily right before me?"

"I am the monster Joffrey called me, if you wish to name me such things. I am the Imp, the Halfman, the Demon Monkey. I am all the cruel things you wish me to be, if that helps you sleep at night, Lord Wyman." Tyrion was growing frustrated, she could sense it as his face turned into a mocking laugh and he picked at the scar on his nose.

"He did not ask you what terrors you incite, Imp, the question was: why would you further Sansa's suffering by taking away her only hope for happiness and freedom and a better future life—her maidenhead?" Ser Harry spoke once more, his blue eyes staring down the dwarf.

Lord Wyman did not interrupt the knight this time. Tyrion shook his head. "I do not know how to respond to you with the answer you wish to hear. I took nothing from Sansa that was not given with good intention, but if you wish to believe I did and it will cause you to think better of her, than blame my lust filled drunkenness."

"No," Sansa shook her head. "I let him take my maidenhead from me, as I told you in the great hall; I knew that we would be returned to Winterfell, I mean, I believed we would if I had a baby. And I knew that I would not get one praying in the godswood."

"Sansa, you do not have to continue to defend yourself in front of men which do not want to listen." Randa interrupted, her arm going about the girl.

"Silence, Myranda Royce! Your father may allow you to have a loose mouth in his presence, but I command that you hold your tongue as I have told Harry to mind his own." Lord Wyman half shouted at the spirited woman. Randa looked over to the older man with a scowl, folding her arms before her great chest. Sansa could see Ser Albar try to contain a smile. "Perhaps you would like to add something yourself, Lady Sansa?"

"My lord," Sansa said, taking a deep breath. "I was the one who asked to be bedded. It was long after our wedding night, and it was after my mother and my brother were slaughtered. I believe that Lord Tyrion did not know that his father commanded their death; he treated me too kindly to mean for further ill action be done against me. He even had asked if I wished to break off my engagement to Joffrey, and he was willing to do it so that I could be free of the boy. Naturally I assumed my mother and brother would free me—but after such atrocity, how could I ever hope for that? I had to do it for myself."

"And that was through producing an heir?" Lord Wyman stared her down; he looked more enormous than he was as she felt the weight of his gaze.

"Yes, my lord. I thought that would be my way to Winterfell where perhaps I could rally Northern allegiance to help free me." Sansa reasoned.

"I would have thought for being whispered as being such a master tactician, your lord husband would have squelched that hope from you. Do you really suspect that Lord Tywin Lannister would have allowed you to become friendly with the houses of the North again?" Lord Wyman shook his head. "He would have known better than that."

"I do not understand the criticism being given Lady Sansa; this is all well after the birth of our son and the death of my father," Tyrion interrupted Sansa's interrogation. She breathed a sigh of relief.

"Because past actions can be indicators for future attempts," Lord Wyman replied. "I need to know that Sansa has a good head upon her shoulders and will not think impulsively; she must see the situations clearly so that she will not fall when her luck has run out."

"That is why I want to suggest that my lord husband act as my Hand." Sansa retorted, placing her hands on the table, folding them gently. Her stomach was turning with bile as she realized that she had not prepared to immediately explain her intentions.

"You must be as mad as the Targaryen king himself!" Harry scoffed. Sansa felt her cheeks burn, but a glance over to Tyrion and his look of annoyance eased her fears; he was not going to let Harry bully him about, regardless of the man's larger stature and better appearance.

"I would not be so quick to mock Lady Sansa's husband," Lord Wyman interrupted the boy's laughing.

"Lord Wyman is right, Ser Harry," Albar agreed with the older man. "If the Imp has loyalties to his lady wife and his child, if he wishes to see Winterfell inhabited by Starks and ruled by true and partial Northern wardens, we cannot pass up the experience he garnered in war."

"This is absolute horseshit!" Harry shook his head. "We are seriously entertaining the notion that half of the North will be ruled by the half man? The man whose family slaughtered the rest of the Stark family?"

"Not the rest," Sansa corrected him. "It was our own ward, Theon Greyjoy, who killed my brothers Bran and Rickon, burned them like twigs." Sansa's voice was raw with further emotion. She could not rule with feeling; how could anyone truly rule without a heart and be of good counsel?

"Lady Sansa, I need to know that you will take seriously the notion that you are going to inherit Winterfell when we siege it from the Boltons," Lord Wyman spoke up. "And I wish to hear it from your own lips; your husband is well known for his unbridled tongue, show me that you would be willing to take on Winterfell if it meant you could not take him."

"What would you do with Tyrion?" Sansa crossed her eyebrows; would they send him back to the jails?

"Presumably we would send him to Casterly Rock to gain further armies and alliances in keeping the Stark House the warden in the North if King Tommen were to ever live long enough to become a king."

"Are you suggesting that you are going to kingslay my nephew?" Tyrion asked, leaning forward, a frown on his face. Sansa knew that he harbored good feelings for the young two children of Cersei Lannister, Tommen and Myrcella.

"I would never suggest further cruelty on children; we have caused them to suffer enough for their father's sins, and he has proven no madness that his brother had." Lord Wyman replied. "As for you, my little friend, we would have you stay here until we were certain that you would be able to take Casterly Rock as your own. We cannot risk losing someone who could be vital to our cause."

Sansa felt her tummy shift with discomfort as she knew the answer she was going to provide the lord with. It was the truth, one she was sure was going to cause damage to one of her best allies. But she knew in her heart that no matter what, she would need to choose this ending.

"I would, if it meant my son was safe in Winterfell where I could raise him properly, I would allow Tyrion Lannister remain as a ward in your care." Sansa said, refusing to look over at Tyrion.

"The matter is settled, then," Lord Wyman spoke.

"You cannot be serious in taking away her husband just as she has been granted him back? The gods' blessings are the only reason he is here!" Lady Randa broke her silence to protest Lord Wyman's declaration.

"I said nothing about keeping Lord Tyrion here," Lord Wyman replied. "I merely asked Lady Sansa if she were to choose, what would she do. And I think she has provided me with a very satisfactory answer."

"Yes, she has claimed that she would keep her lord husband here," Harry's square face was reddening with frustration.

"Lady Sansa would leave her husband behind if it meant that her son would be raised a Northerner. She may have sentimentality toward the man who treated her kindly in her cage, but she certainly will not follow him to their child's end." Lord Wyman's voice was patronizing as he spoke to Harry, as if the boy was incapable of understanding the words he was using to explain his reasoning. "She will not agree with him to do things that would harm the rebuilding of Winterfell. Of course, we may not have much to worry about in regards to Lady Sansa's inheritance; she may be the Lady of Casterly Rock yet."

"What do you mean?" Sansa's head was spinning with the quick decisions the weathered lord was making in regards to her and her husband's future.

"I see no conflict in Lord Tyrion staying at your side, Lady Sansa, and if it will ease your conscience, take him as your Hand. He was the one who saved King's Landing from invading enemies; his wild fire and wit are well known and respected even by his enemies at this point." Lord Wyman said. "We still need to take Winterfell from the hands of Ramsay Snow and quite possibly Stannis Baratheon."

"That is going to take a lot of outthinking, my lord." Tyrion spoke up. Lord Wyman raised an eyebrow at her husband in annoyance.

"I am sure you are more than willing to provide your advice in dealing with your goodbrother," the fat man replied. "However, that may be your only concern with Winterfell. I am awaiting word from Davos Seaworth,"

"The Onion Knight?" Tyrion laughed. "The man was punished for stealing, why take him into your service? What could you possibly need him to steal?" Sansa wanted to place her hand over Tyrion's mouth to shut him up. Lord Wyman was clearly growing annoyed with his commentary and she wished to know what he hid up his sleeves.

"I would ask Davos to steal me an heir," Lord Wyman said. "An heir to Winterfell."

"What do you mean, Lord Wyman?" Albar was the one to interrupt the lord.

"These words do not leave this council or this council room, am I clear?" Lord Wyman looked about the five faces sitting before him at the table. All gravely nodded their heads in agreement to the terms he set. "I have news that young Rickon Stark has been sighted on Skagos Islands, and I would like to keep such valuable information quiet. In the wake of our Lady Sansa Stark becoming a Lannister, it appears that a son of Stark has reappeared to reclaim Winterfell in the name of the Direwolves, in the name of the wardens of the North."


	48. Stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday! This chapter is a lot of baby times and "feelings are hard" moments. Hope you enjoy! Leave a review if you can! ~Lydia

Sansa had not ceased in her worry over her little brother's reappearance into the world of the living since Lord Wyman whispered the promise of Lord Rickon in the council room. Tyrion felt joy at the prospect that his lady wife was no longer the lone wolf in her pack, but he soon realized that what Lord Wyman had said was true. If Rickon were found, he would be the true heir to the castle in the North. And if Tyrion was established as Lord of Casterly Rock, assuming Jaime would truly remain unable to inherit the castle, then that would make Sansa the Lady of Casterly Rock.

Tyrion and Sansa had returned to her apartments in silence, Sansa's blue eyes did not look at him the entire walk, though she did take his hand in hers. He knew that she was fighting the notion of hope; how could she anticipate the idea that someone she loved was alive when everyone else had already been senselessly slaughtered?

The two found septa Elyse sat with a fussy little Robb upon their return to the rooms. Sansa took the boy from the woman, dismissing her with a curt sentence, turning her back as soon as her son was in her arms. She then retreated to the nursery with the crying boy. Tyrion apologized to the confused septa for Sansa's brusque behavior, assuring her that too much was told to her in the short span of the morning. Septa Elyse nodded her head and left the room quickly. She informed the man before leaving that she would stay away Robb was put in his crib for the night, and return only to see if Sansa needed any help. She wished Tyrion luck and the blessings of the gods.

"The blessings of the gods," Tyrion laughed as the septa closed the door behind her. "The blessings of the gods were withheld too many times. If there were any blessings left, it would be that the rules of inheritance could change and it was Sansa who would receive Winterfell."

Tyrion went to Sansa's solar as he waited for his wife to return from her retreat with their son; a much happier child who would be filled with his mother's milk. He was looking about the books on the shelves in Sansa's chambers, noticing they remained untouched, when the woman appeared with Robb in her arms. The baby was happy and clapping his chubby hands as he bounced in his mother's arms.

"Sansa," Tyrion reached out to her. Sansa tilted her face to look down at him, a frown on her mouth.

"Do you think it true? Do you think that my brother was not killed by Theon Greyjoy? That there was a mistake?"

"I do not know, my lady, but certainly stranger things have occurred," Tyrion offered. He wanted her to hope, but he did not want to see her pull away from him and shrink into despair if the boy found was not of her blood.

Sansa passed Robb to Tyrion, rubbing her eyes with her fingers as she took a deep breath. "If Rickon is alive, then where is Bran? He was unable to walk when I left him in Winterfell those nearly two years ago," Sansa said. "How could he have truly escaped?"

Tyrion frowned, his scar pulling his skin taught on his face. Robb bounced in his arms, the boy's hands twisting in Tyrion's bronze curls as he leaned against his father's shoulder. Tyrion balanced the boy on his waist, the baby's rear perched on his forearm. Tyrion held his free hand against Robb's expanded tummy, pressing lightly to be assured the boy would not jump from his arms.

"I do not know, Sansa. Perhaps there was someone in Winterfell, a maester maybe, who was able to be sure the boys were out of the castle before Theon was able to burn it in his moment of rebellion." Tyrion offered. "You mustn't raise your hopes too high, my lady. We do not know whether the boy in question is Rickon Stark."

"Do you think I do not know this?" Sansa snapped at him, her hands flying to her cheeks and rubbing against them with frustration, her face turned into a grimace. "I am sorry, my lord."

"Sansa, you should rest. I am sure your head and I know your heart is very tired from the news received this morning." Tyrion replied. He tried to lighten the mood, smiling at her and adding. "After our fuck last night, I was unsure as to whether you would even arise from bed this morning."

"Mind your tongue with Robb, Tyrion!" Sansa scolded. Tyrion chuckled.

"If he does not hear it from his father, he'll hear it from the men in the training yard when he is being trained to become a handsome knight." Tyrion let go of his sons's tummy to reach up and stroke his head.

"I still wish he would hear it from the rough knights and not from his lord father," Sansa replied.

"He certainly will not hear it from you. You only whisper obscenities when you are beneath—"

"Tyrion," Sansa reached over to the couch behind her and grabbed a cushion. She hit him lightly upside the arm with it, enough to cause a small _bumping_ noise caused by the clashing of fabrics, but not enough to upset her husband's grip on their son.

"You near made me drop my son on his precious head," Tyrion grabbed his son's hand, holding it as he mock spoke with the boy. "Your mother is teaching you how to avoid murderers so young in life."

Sansa let out a loud sigh, rolling her eyes as she turned away from Tyrion. "If you are so intent on teaching our son on all the viles of life, have at it. I do need to rest for a few moments."

"Do so, Sansa. Perhaps have a bath drawn for you. The tub is still in the dressing quarters," Tyrion assured his wife, following after her. "Robb and I will have a pleasant time, will we not?"

Sansa smiled down at the two, slowly sinking to her knees. "My two handsome men will stand guard as I rest?" She embraced the both of them, placing a loud kiss on her son's high forehead.

"You should sleep better with the promise of that comfort," Tyrion assured her. Sansa placed a kiss on Tyrion's mouth, chaste and sweet, before rising to make her way to the bed.

"Shall we play in the nursery, my son?" Tyrion's heart raced at the notion of calling this sweet beautiful child his son.

He brought the child into the room, noticing that septa Elyse must have been playing with the boy earlier. A rattle lay atop a soft fur blanket, several blocks sitting next to it. Tyrion figured such a place would be a suitable play area for the baby.

"What have we here, Robb? Some blocks?" Tyrion set the boy on the floor first, afraid of tripping forward and landing on the child as he settled to the floor himself. Robb rolled back on his back, his head was still a little too large to hold up all on his own. Tyrion grinned as Robb began to make noises, pressing his hands against his mouth to dampen and then unmute the sound. The stopping of his mouth, and thus his noise, quickly became a game for him.

Tyrion took some of the blocks in hand, pulling them closer as he set the boy against his leg. He offered the baby a block, which Robb eagerly took and began to chew on.

"How is the taste of that fine White Harbor wood, my son?" Tyrion tickled the boy's sides gently. Robb dropped the block, bursting out in baby chuckles as Tyrion tickled him. Tyrion kissed his son's cheek as he tortured the baby with wriggling fingers in his plump sides. Robb was letting out screams of excitement as Tyrion played with him.

"Mother does need to sleep," Tyrion told his son gently. "She is very tired from carrying you all over the place and having to deal with all types of terrible people. People who I will ensure you will never meet." Tyrion replied.

The father caught sight of a small pile of wooden carved creatures that lay near the blocks. He leaned forward to gather them closer as Robb took a block in hand again, placing the corner of the wooden cube in hand and munching happily.

"What have we here?" Tyrion collected the animals and pulled them to his side. He first picked up a wolf; rudimentarily carved, but identifiable. "A direwolf, my little lord." Tyrion held the toy before Robb's face. Robb grabbed for it, placing the wooden creature in his mouth and chewing. "Of course you do not care much more for the symbol than the taste it provides you."

Robb squealed in delight as he dropped the wolf, then leaned forward to pick it up. He stumbled over the thickness of the toy compared to his little hands. It took Robb several attempts and unsatisfied grunts before he grasped the toy between two hands/ Tyrion took to the next animal, a lion with a cloth mane. He chuckled. "Your mother, she would make a little lion in my honor."

He reached forward for the wolf, balancing his son against his chest as he took the two toys in hand. "A direwolf and a lion…if you are indeed my son, you would love to hear a story I have no doubt."

Robb tipped forward to look up at where Tyrion's voice came from. "A proper story, yes? Alright, well once upon a time, there was a pretty lady wolf. She loved her family, her pack, which was really big and loving, and she never wanted to leave them.

"One day, when the family of wolves was taking a walk in the woods," Tyrion bobbed the creature up and down to simulate walking. "The lady wolf was separated from her family by…by a wildfire." _So it isn't a perfect allegory, but I am sure he understands little of what I say now anyways,_ Tyrion mused as he held the lion out before him. "And the lady wolf, she ran into a group of lions. Big ferocious lions that hurt her and made her cry. She howled every night, trying to find her wolf family, but she was too far away. She was so very lonely in the pack of lions, not being like them at all.

"And then one day the littlest lion in the group, he saw how sad the lady wolf was. He felt very bad that she was not with her home, and he knew that the lions were the ones that helped set the fire. He wished that he could make the lady wolf happy again, but he was not sure how." Tyrion had the lion come closer to the wolf, the two of them facing one another. "And so he became friends with the wolf, asking her why she was sad and playing with her to distract her from her thoughts about her missing family. Soon the two became good friends and the lady wolf was much happier, though she would never feel complete without her wolf family."

Robb reached forward and grabbed hold of Tyrion's thumbs, each which helped grip an animal, pulling them closer so he could try his best to put both of the wooden creatures in his mouth. "And so the wolf and the little lion had a son who apparently was more content on eating them than listening to a story." He teased.

Robb started making sounds again, and Tyrion let go of the animals to tap his flat hand against the boy's mouth, a series of _ba, ba, ba_ 's crescendoing and decrescendoing, filling the room. Robb let out a squeal of glee and grabbed more tightly to Tyrion's thumbs. He leaned forward, his mouth covering the side of his father's hand and his gums biting down on the skin gently.

"Oww, you wound me, wolf cub," Tyrion mocked pain and gently pulled his hand from his son's mouth. He took hold of Robb under his arms, turning him so that he looked at him face to face. Tyrion lay back on the floor, his back against the fur rug he had set Robb on. He held his son above his chest. "You are attacking me!"

He pulled his son close to his body and feigned being bitten again, writhing gently in mock duress underneath him. The movement only caused Robb to squeal even more loudly with laughter. "You are going to kill me, little prince!"

Tyrion gently rolled over so that Robb was now on his back on the fur rug and Tyrion held himself suspended over his son's body. "If you bite me, I will have to take a bite of you too!"

Tyrion leaned down, placing his mouth to his son's belly and mocked chewing the boy's round tummy. Robb giggled with glee, his feet kicking in joy at Tyrion's chest. "You kick at me and wound me again," Tyrion sat upwards, grabbing the area of his chest where Robb had lightly kicked him, falling backwards in pretend hurt. "A wound on my face and now a scar on my chest, I will be so ugly your mother will not recognize me! How could you, young Robbert?"

Tyrion went back to pretending to bite at his son's belly as the boy's squeals became louder and more high pitched, his glee at the game his father was playing was contagious and Tyrion found himself contented and mirthful. "Your toes do look rather tasty, my lord."

Tyrion grabbed hold of the small chubby ankles his offspring boasted, gently placing the miniature toes in his mouth, biting down gently with his teeth. Robb let out a squeal and kicked his feet, a baby chuckle emerging again from his throat. "Your toes do not taste so lordly, are you sure you are a little prince?"

The baby laughed as Tyrion went for his tummy once more, his hands tangling in the blonde hair that hung above him. "You put up a good fight, my lord." Tyrion laughed, trying to pry his son's fingers open to escape from the grip.

"You both do," Sansa's voice startled Tyrion, and he sat upright, several hairs still entwined in Robb's fingers ripping loose and leaving a burning feeling in Tyrion's scalp.

"Damn!" He cried, grabbing hold of the hurt area.

"He has an iron grip, my lord, be careful of the hairs you put near it, you might never get them back." Sansa smiled.

"Did we wake you?" Tyrion asked.

"No, I did not get to sleep. I was listening to a story about a lady wolf and a little lion, but it was interrupted by some little baby squeals." She fell quickly to her knees before her son's head, leaning over the tiny boy to tickle his tummy. "It seems your father knows where you liked to be tortured best."

"My son already tried to wound me; I may as well return the favor." Tyrion tickled the boy's feet as Sansa wiggled her fingers on his tummy. Robb squealed again, his hands grabbing hold of Sansa's fingers.

"I did not realize my lord husband was so knowledgeable in regards to babies." Sansa let go of her son who was kicking wildly at his father now.

"I did have the privilege of having two infant nephews and a niece at one time." Tyrion caught hold of Robb's feet, shaking them gently as he squealed again in laughter. "I was not much older than you are when Joffrey was an infant. Babies can be such good pretenders; one would never know he would turn into the terror he was when he was as giggly and sweet as this little lion pup."

He watched Sansa reach out and pet her son's forehead, leaning over to place a kiss on the soft skin. "My son will not be like him, I will be sure of it."

Tyrion's wry smile could not be contained; though it helped that this young baby was not conceived in incest, how could one truly predict what would happen with the young child before them. He knew Sansa would make the best of mothers, but he had seen cruelty in his family before—he only hoped it was not a blood trait passed down to his son.

"He will hopefully be more beautiful than the tyrant," Tyrion let go of his son's legs, leaning over to grab the rattle and handing it to the baby. "My blood could be overridden by your beauty."

"I am so tired of being beautiful," Sansa replied. "It seems to me more trouble than being less comely."

Tyrion reached over his son to take Sansa's elegant hand in his stubby one, rubbing his thumb over the back. "You are very comely, my lady wolf, I am sorry to tell you the truth."

Sansa laughed. "Perhaps it is not so cold when you tell me so, my lord."

"Then I will tell you every day we are together, how very beautiful you are." Tyrion placed a kiss on the back of her hand.

Robb let out a cry as Tyrion and Sansa's attentions were diverted to one another, banging the rattle against the floor in defeat.

"You must stop reminding him that he is a prince, he is starting to behave like a spoiled monarch." Sansa took her son in arms, placing him on her bent legs. He kicked his feet as he settled into his mother's lap. "He will think all eyes should be on him at all times."

"He just needs someone else around to help balance him out; when there are other children, they learn quickly that they must share affection." Tyrion reddened as he realized what he was suggesting to Sansa. They had lain together, but he would not be offended if she took moon tea if she conceived again.

Sansa's blue eyes had been looking at him, holding his gaze, but at his suggestion for Robb to be with other children, she turned her attention to her son, holding his chubby arms in her hands. Tyrion felt his chest burn as he understood how embarrassed she must be.

"Do you want more children, my lord?" Sansa asked in a hushed tone as she set Robb on the floor before her, laying him on his stomach.

"I want what you wish, what will make you happy, Sansa." Tyrion answered her.

"I do not want you to tell me answers I wish to hear. I want to know what you want, my lord, if you were like many lord husbands that would take." She raised her eyebrow, her river blue eyes returning to meet his gaze again.

Tyrion smiled sadly at Sansa, shaking his head. "I would only wish to have more children with you, Sansa Stark, but you have your heir and he is not affected with my…affliction." Tyrion groaned as he staggered to his feet, finding that he was in want of drink.

He tried to pass Sansa who sat on the floor still, but she reached up and caught his hand in hers. Tyrion stopped and met eyes once more with his lady wife. "My family is not what you would call a model example; perhaps I am to become the father mine was?" He admitted to her.

Sansa held to his hand still, her fingers entwining in his as she leaned closer to him. He wrapped his arms about the woman and she sank into his grasp, her head upon his chest. "That could happen, I think, but I do not believe it will, my lord."

"And what of you, Sansa? Were you to have any other husband but me, would you want more children?" He knew the answer to this, of course she would. She was half Tully, a house which boasted family, duty, and honor as their motto.

"Would my lord husband be surprised if I said that I have thought about having more of _his_ children?" Sansa's reply was gentle. Tyrion felt his heart grip again; he coughed as he fought for breath. "I will take that as he would."

She pulled from his arms, her hands going about Robb's body as she moved the boy closer to the pile of blocks Tyrion had collected. Robb went to chewing on the wood, cooing happily as his parents sat in silence. Tyrion longed to reach for Sansa, to assure her that the shock was not disappointment but flattery.

Tyrion cleared his throat as the tension in the room began to build, worrying his stomach. "I would…I never expected such a statement to come from—"

"—A Stark?" Sansa interjected.

"A _lady_ ," Tyrion corrected her. Sansa looked back at him with softened blue eyes, a smile creeping across the corner of her mouth. "You muster much bravery to love a Lannister, Sansa."

"He is not just any Lannister," Sansa replied, leaning forward to push a block back into Robb's path. "You are brave, gentle, and strong."

"If you insist I am, Lady Sansa, so I shall be." Tyrion did not believe a word of what she said. She did not know that he had nearly given up on her, that he had thought of other women when she was away. _How am I to be the right husband for you, Sansa? I love you dearly, but Ser Harry and his jealousy are well placed—you deserved a knight like him._

Sansa's hand returning to his, her ice cold fingers wrapping around his palm, brought him out of his thoughts. He felt the ring, colder than her skin, the ring with the lion's head, on his warm skin as her hand enveloped his. His lady wife, Sansa, wanted to stay with him though she was given the option to be free. She had kept the key and perched in her cage. Shattered and damaged and singing her songs a little more expertly than when he had left her.

"I am sorry that you were left to be broken, Sansa." Tyrion looked up into her blue eyes. Sansa let go of his hand and took to wrapping her fingers along the side of his face, cradling the worn and damaged skin. She placed a kiss on his large forehead.

"You did not break me, Tyrion," Sansa said. "And you cannot heal me; I must heal my wounds myself." Tyrion looked up to her, realizing that she would not let him fix her. "I will let you help, but I alone truly must mend myself."

Sansa placed her mouth on Tyrion's, kissing him slowly and deeply. Her mouth was still sweet and hot, her spit sent his blood racing, and her fingers on his cheek made his skin glow with warmth. She continued to kiss him until Robb let out a dissatisfied whine. Sansa pulled from Tyrion, pressing her forehead to his while she caught her breath.

"I do want more children, Tyrion. I do want your children. Not Lannister children, not lions. But the children of a man whom I can trust," Sansa replied. "Please do not let me regret giving you my confidence."

"I will do my best," Tyrion sincerely vowed.

"However, I am content with no further children until this war is over," she said as she took Robb in her arms. "This is not a place for children, this world is a place for no one." She stood and, with Robb against her chest, went to the rocking chair in the corner of the room. She sat down quietly, placing Robb's head on her shoulder and began to rock him gently, humming softly.

"This world makes men from boys and women from girls," Tyrion grumbled as he knew he was pushed from the room. "You, my lady wife, would know that better than any."

He was in desperate need for wine, and Sansa was in need for reflection. He left her to the nursery as he went in search for the decanter he saw when the two returned to her apartment. He had not become drunk in too many months, perhaps now was a good time.


	49. Distance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you guys, for your feedback. Truly, it does help me as a writer, both with encouragement and sometimes ideas :) So if have the time and something to say, feel free to leave a comment. As many of you know, Sansa and Tyrion are never on the plane of ethereal bliss (or what that would be for them anyways) like they were last chapter. This is another reason why this fict should be called "Feelings are Hard"

Sansa knew that she had done little to mend the rift between her and her husband, retreating to put her child to sleep, but she knew of no better way to explain to him that she trusted him more than she should and it terrified her. So it did not surprise her to find Tyrion in the solar looking over tomes of maps with a cup of wine in his hand. The room smelled strongly of Arbor Gold and she knew that he had taken to more than just the one cup.

“Drunkards are fools, and many meet terrible demises. I know a man at the bottom of Blackwater Bay with quarrels in his belly to prove so,” Sansa commented as she entered the room. Tyrion turned his head to look at her, his upper lip still wet as he lowered the cup to his lap.

“More stories of my dear lady’s adventures across Westeros?” Tyrion asked. Sansa took to the ground next to him, laying her head on his arm as she looked at the intricately drawn land masses and the painstakingly placed lines and labels. Tyrion paused and turned to look at her with confusion before bringing his attention back to the papers.

“There are not too many stories you will want to hear,” she answered. “What has caught your attention in the maps?”

“I am just trying to think about the best way to make an army’s way to Winterfell,” Tyrion pulled a map closer to him. Sansa perked up, sitting upright once more to look at the table. She stood to her feet and bent over so she could look down at the papers.

“Is there a plan you wish to tell me about?” Sansa asked. “I am not willing to send hundreds, thousands if we are blessed, to be slaughtered by one of the most wise military leaders found in Stannis, and clearly Ramey Bolton is a formidable enemy if he kept the stag’s army off the land so far.”

“I would rank him as the wisest now that my father is dead,” Tyrion replied.

“If we are to speak of adventures we are not speaking to one another about, that would be one of them.” Sansa interrupted. Tyrion looked up at her with a frown on his mouth, his scar pulling the skin about his short face taut. She reached forward to tenderly run her fingers along the ruined bits of skin.

“I am thinking that we should make friends with the mountain clans once again and lay siege on Stannis’ army from behind,” Tyrion said, pointing to the woods which lay around Winterfell on the maps. Sansa took Tyrion’s drink from his hand, placing it on the table. “Sansa—wine is needed when making strategy.”

“I did not realize, my lord,” Sansa settled into his lap, her arms going about his neck. She kissed his mouth, warm and wet and bittersweet with Arbor Gold. “I am so cruel to take it from you.”

Tyrion’s gaze was settled onto her lips, his mouth covering hers again when he had taken his fill of looking at her pout. “You are trying to soften me, Sansa; what are you in want of?”

Sansa pushed away from him, perching on his lap still but placing distance between their bodies. “We should befriend Stannis Baratheon.”

“If we friend Stannis Baratheon, we are going to be held to that contract until he has his stag arse on that throne,” Tyrion shook his head. “I am not sure you will want to support him.”

“Is there another reason, as to why we should not give our allegiance to him? We could ally our armies and force the Boltons from Winterfell.”

“No!” Tyrion’s stubbornness was angering Sansa, but he clearly had a further motivation to turn his back on the famed warrior.

“Why are you being so blind to a strategy that will keep men alive that even  I  can see?” Sansa gripped his arm, squeezing a little more forcefully than necessary.

“If Stannis goes to the royal city, to King’s Landing, he’ll kill every last claim to royalty there is left.” Tyrion looked at Sansa with the coldest green eyes she had only seen on Tywin. Her heart raced as she bit her lip.

“Margaery! I could plead for her life, we could suggest that perhaps she could be married to a different lord?”

“Margaery? What of Tommen, and Myrcella? They certainly will not allow her to live. If she is in Dorne or not.” Tyrion sat back in the chair, his elbow leaning against the arm of the chair and his chin propped on his fist. He looked away from her, his cheek twisting. “They’ll slaughter them like animals.”

Sansa placed her hand on Tyrion’s chest, leaning close to him once more. “I…I understand.”

“How can  you  understand?” Tyrion’s wrath was turned on her, his face twisted in anguish and his head shaking in disbelief. “I am simply to swallow as truth the sympathies you offer me? Do you think me so stupid to believe that you would want the family who killed your brother and your mother and your father to survive? Because those children are Lannisters.”

“So is Robb,” Sansa replied. She closed her eyes, her chin dropping to her chest. “They are children, and I have said  that children have no place in this war. I cannot say with confidence that I would be glad for them to be slaughtered. Tommen was a nice boy, and Myrcella—Myrcella was going to be a beautiful girl. She will be a beautiful girl,” Sansa gripped her husband’s jerkin as she fought for his attention.

“You are a Stark and they are Lannisters, full blooded Lannisters. The bastards of my sister and my brother, do you take pity on them now?” Tyrion’s voice was raw with rage, and Sansa felt her jaw drop. She had heard such whispers, had even heard that her father was going to out the truth about the Lannister twins. Sansa swallowed hard.

“I…I still think they are children,” she responded hesitantly. “And they could be better than Joffrey. Tommen was kind to the kittens he was given whereas Joffrey would have rather skinned them. Perhaps…perhaps they will grow up to be good people.”

Tyrion still shook his head, turning away from her once more. “The Lannisters would not have shown you such kindness, they did not. They would wipe every single one of the Starks out, they tried.”

“Not all of them,” Sansa reached out to touch his face. She felt tears hot in her eyes as she looked over his marred cheek and his tight frown and his furrowed, ruined brow. “You once said to me, when you told me that you were going to end the engagement between Joffrey and myself, you said that no marriage between the Starks and Lannisters could stop the feud between the houses.”

Tyrion looked at her now, his green eyes still angry and frigid, but she was a child of the cold. She could weather the iciness he was sending her way. “You told me that there was no hope for our houses to ally. Yet, we have proved them wrong. We have a son, Tyrion, and we are going to take Winterfell. We are healing the rifts.”

“Are we truly, Sansa?” Tyrion’s voice was low and sharp; she ignored the daggers in his question.

“We are attempting to, my lord husband,” Sansa reached up to run her fingers through his brassy hair. “There is no further evidence than the way you have treated me, the way you have…cherished me.”

“I am a man of lusts and appetites, I cherish your cunt and your tits,” Tyrion pulled his gaze from her. Sansa sighed, turning to throw her legs across his body and keep him bound in the chair.

“You are a terrible liar,” Sansa pulled her fingers from his curls and reached beneath his jerkin. He looked back at her once more, a smirk on his face as if to show that she had his attention only by touching him. Sansa’s return smile was much bigger as she took hold of the metal pendent which sat on his golden hair laiden chest. She pulled the dragonfly from beneath his clothing, her thumb running over the creature’s body. “If you do not think it wise to ally with Stannis Baratheon—“

“You are the Queen of the North, Sansa. These men will not respect me if they hear that you wanted to make allies and I kept you from doing so in order to save my family.” Tyrion took hold of the hand which wrapped around the dragonfly, pulling her fingers away.

“Let us make an alliance, then.” Sansa said. “We can offer our support for his campaign for the crown, and we can offer Robb as a future husband for his daughter, if he allows your family to live.”

“Do you think he would agree to such an offer?” Tyrion shook his head. “And what of me? He would rather see me dead before remaining married to you, residing at Winterfell.”

Sansa frowned as she pulled her hand from his. “The alternative decisions leads to many dead men and most assured defeat.”

Tyrion did not respond this time, but settled his chin in his fist one more, his green eyes looking to his lap as he slipped into thought. Sansa wrapped her arm under his chin, her elbow bent to allow her forearm to rest along the side of his neck and her hand to tangle in the curls at the nape. She kissed his temple gently. The two of them were better at shoving one another far away in conflict; that would certainly not remain an option when, and if, they became wardens of the North.

She felt Tyrion’s arm lift from his lap, his hand brushing past her waist as he wrapped the arm around her back. He leant in toward her, his head pressing to her breasts. “We may have married the houses of Stark and Lannister, but my family has done too much harm to the realm for anyone to wish to see me live.”

“I wish to,” Sansa corrected him. “My lord?”

Tyrion looked up to her with contrite green eyes. “What is it, Sansa?”

“Will…will you anger Daenarys by not winning me to her side?” Sansa asked, her fingers pulling once more from his curls and sliding across his neck to cup his jawline. Tyrion’s hand behind her curled and she could feel his short nails scratching lightly against the soft fabric of her dress.

“Possibly,” Tyrion sighed. “Which brings up another question—what are we to do with Jorah Mormont?”

“It would be a kindness if he could return to his home, to tell his family that the Starks are on the move once more,” Sansa’s thumb caressed his cheek.

“That man is as in love with Dany as I am with you,” Tyrion replied, his lips twisting once more into a grimace. Sansa leaned down to kiss the side of his mouth gently.

“He will go back to Dany when he returns to…”

“Meereen, in Essos,” Tyrion replied. He pushed Sansa’s ankles from the chair arm she had placed them on, and leaned forward with her in his lap to point to the maps before him. Sansa noticed that the furthest map was the entirety of Westeros and Essos, and someone had taken to drawing lines and making notes on the parchment. “She would need to come back to Westeros.”

“Who is Daenarys?” Sansa’s attention returned to Tyrion. Her little lord husband sighed as he returned his body to the back of the chair.

“She is one of the remaining Targaryens. She was married off by her brother to a khal, the king, essentially, of the Dothraki, a nomadic warrior people who travel the deserts and wastelands named the Dothraki Sea.” He tipped his chin toward the map and Sansa turned her head to look at the expanse of empty space in the Western most portion of the foreign land. “She received three dragon’s eggs and was able to hatch them, raising them as her children. Of course, the beasts are far from docile offspring and have taken to creating more havoc than of being much use to her cause.”

Sansa felt her heart constrict as she began to process the information Tyrion was telling her, realizing what her family meant in the Targaryen family line. “Tyrion,” she gripped his jerkin tightly once more.

“What is it, Sansa?” Tyrion asked, placing his hand over hers.

“If she were to return, what is to say that she would not destroy us both when she had taken the crown?” Sansa asked.

“I am sure she would rather thank us for having supported her.” Tyrion untangled her fingers from the fabric of his clothing, placing a kiss on the knuckles of her fist.

“Perhaps you, perhaps she would take you as her strategist. But me? My father was part of the regime that helped remove her family from the throne. And I am having babies. Babies that are meant to inherit Winterfell—“

“And Casterly Rock,” Tyrion’s nails on her back quickened in speed as she felt her head spin with quick breaths and rapid thoughts.

“But those babies…why would she want my family to remain on the Northern Throne? Why would she…why would she risk the increase of a family which once destroyed hers?” Sansa’s hands shook as she realized that perhaps Dany was no more safe than Stannis.

“Sansa, I will remind you that I placed my cloak of protection about your shoulders, I would make no ally who would harm you. Or Robb.” His voice was soft as he assured her.

“But dragons! How can you promise me that she will not send her dragons to fell my family’s castle for eternity with their flames and anger?” Sansa wanted to believe that Tyrion would keep her safe, but she knew that even self preservation was near impossible in the game she had been thrust into.

“And you trust Stannis more than you do Daenarys?” Tyrion’s question was not accusatory; he truly wanted to know what she was thinking, and she found she more than appreciated the respect he was giving her.

“I am afraid we are short on friends, our houses have alienated all the right people and befriended all the wrong ones,” Sansa shook her head.

“You must decide who you wish to sit on the throne. And I will not allow you to choose yourself. You will not take up the dangers and death of the throne.”

“What of my half brother?” Sansa asked. Tyrion looked at Sansa with stitched eyebrows.

“Jon Snow?”

“He is not a child of any house, not truly. He is a bastard. He has none who would want to destroy him outside of house ladies who are always angered by bastards.” Sansa nodded. “If we friended with Stannis, could we then return north to the Wall and find my brother Jon? Convince him to join the fight for the crown. He is a wise man, and he is a good fighter. He was better than my brother Robb at swordsplay. He would make a good king, I should think, or at least a better one than the contenders. He would not destroy the houses left, he would seek to rebuild them. To bring peace and unity to the Great Houses of Westeros once more.”

“And how do you think Westeros will take to having a bastard king?” Tyrion asked, his other hand which rested on the chair’s arm now swept around the front of her.

“They will need to adjust, but if it is the right thing, I am sure they will manage. Just as the North will manage having the Imp as their warden,” Sansa answered him.

“When will the council want to know of our decision?” Tyrion asked her. “I am assuming this has been a frequently debated issue since before I showed up at the castle doorstep.” He wrinkled his scarred nose as a grimace passed his mouth. “Or before I was taken here.”

Sansa placed her hand on his hand which encircled her belly. “Several weeks. We were waiting for Lord Wyman to recover.”

“What did happen to the man?” Tyrion asked.

“Weddings of late have become more violent than they used to be,” Sansa answered him, glad that, while her wedding was painful, everyone survived the night. “Ramsey Snow, Roose Bolton’s bastard, he was legitimized for making his father proud, I suppose. So they married him to my apparent sister, Arya Stark.”

“And this does not upset you, Sansa?” Tyrion’s voice betrayed his shock.

“Lord Wyman assured me that the girl who was there was certainly not my sister. She is not a Stark at all. Lord Petyr Baelish set up a mock wedding with a servant girl from King’s Landing and the legitimized bastard.”

“So your sister’s whereabouts are still unknown?” Tyrion asked. Sansa nodded her head.

“She may be alive, she may be dead. No one has heard from her since my father’s beheading.” She looked down to see Tyrion’s thick brow set low in concentration. “Lord Wyman went to this supposed wedding, and a fight broke out between the Northern houses and their acting warden.”

“Southren men truly are fools if they suspect they can merely tramp into the North and assume control.” Tyrion responded. “So I take it Lord Wyman was wounded in the battle?”

“Had his throat slit, but he survived.” Sansa wrapped her arm around the back of his neck once more. “He took several weeks recovering in his apartments.”

“Battle wounds are not the most kind of injuries,” Tyrion let go of her waist and rubbed his face.

“Lord Wyman knows that the Northern houses would be glad to get rid of the Boltons, but he is not sure as to how kindly they’ll take to Stannis Baratheon in the face of victory. He has already sworn his allegiance to the stag. The would-be King has made his way to the Wall. We would have to travel there ourselves in order to hold conference with him.”

“The truth remains that Stannis would break before bending,” Tyrion nodded his head. “These stags are truly much trouble.” He scratched at his scar, Sansa reaching out to grab hold of his hand and pull it away. “So you think we should go to the Wall and pledge temporary allegiance, but then set Jon up as a usurper?”

“I do not think we are going to convince many by playing the game straight forward, we need to set up our pieces. Perhaps if the gods are good, Stannis will be killed in the battle.”

“The gods have already been merciful to us, my lady wife, I would not hold much hope that they would bless us further.”

“Perhaps not,” Sansa sighed. “I just do not know how the council is going to take to the notion of betrayal.” Sansa let go of Tyrion’s hand and untangled herself from his arm, rising from his lap. Tyrion sat forward on his chair, reaching for the cup Sansa had separated him from.

“You mean you are not sure how Ser Harry would take to the notion of betrayal. I think Lady Myranda Royce would follow you to the ends of the North, and she would force her brother along with her.”

“What of Lord Wyman?” Sansa turned to look at her husband, knowing that he was holding a grudge against the knight because of the man’s obvious affection for her, though Sansa did not hold the jealousy against Tyrion.

“He would be smart enough to know that he is going to have to betray some in order to get the right people into Winterfell. What if young Rickon is alive, Sansa? You want to know that there are people who are loyal to the Starks, and who will do anything for you.”

“I do not want more murders at weddings,” Sansa felt bad as soon as she had said it; as much as she did not like Cersei, or Tywin or Joffrey, she knew that she was, by all legal rights, a Lannister herself, and surely not every Lannister in the house would condone such actions. Tyrion had made it known soon after that he did not.

“There will be none, with you leading the men of the North, but the Freys did not obey my family because of loyalty. It was coin and land and promise. The Lannisters have no true friends, they have gold. And when gold runs out, that is when we are left looking at the pointy end of the sword.” Tyrion took a swig of his cup.

“I always  thought that if I were to become queen, that I would make people love me.” Sansa had not truly thought about voicing the opinion, it was something which came from her mouth unexpected.

“If the Northern men love the Starks in the least, then they will follow you, Sansa.” Tyrion said. “The abused queen of the North; you will have more than Ser Harry falling at your feet.”

Sansa frowned, falling to her knees as Tyrion’s side, placing her hands on his arm. He paused in his drinking to look at her. “Remember, Tyrion, that just as the men of armies may love me and follow me as their queen, I love you as your wife.”

Tyrion smiled into his cup. “It is funny to think that the women of your mother’s family seem to get the short end of the stick when promised marriage.”

“What do you mean?” Sansa asked, sinking back on her heels.

“Lady Lysa wanted nothing more than Petyr Baelish, as you have acknowledged yourself. Only to be given to the old and poor healthed and not so bright Jon Arryn. What a miserable match he must have been.” Tyrion looked over at her. “Then there was your mother, Catelyn Tully, promised to Brandon Stark. The beautiful and brave and strong knight of the Stark family. The poor bastard had to go and die in the siege against the Targaryens, and she was given to Eddard Stark. The less beautiful, less breathtaking, more gruff brother. And then you,” Tyrion leaned closer to her and she could smell the wine hot on his words. “You were promised a king, only to be exposed as a tyrant, and then you were promised a knight, a beautiful and loyal Tyrell knight. You are the poorest of all, Sansa Stark. You were given to the Imp.”

Sansa closed the distance between she and Tyrion, placing her mouth on his and tasting the Arbor Gold on his tongue. She kissed him deeply, her hands going about his cheeks. He kissed her back, his tongue a warm and familiar companion to hers. She was finding her head beginning to spin when she finally pulled from his mouth.

“Do not forget that Jon Arryn provided my Aunt with stability and money, and Petyr provided her an end to her life. My father was the better match for my beautiful mother, and the two of them came to love each other very much, more than I could ever hope for us.” Sansa said, reaching forward to take hold of his hand. “And we two, even though we are shamed in the court and we have our walls and our keeps, we have provided one another with…with the fulfillment of need.”

“Our needs? And just what needs do we have?” Tyrion laughed.

“To find the romance in the songs; the disgraced daughter revealing herself to be the gentle lady and the demon monkey the strong and valiant knight. We understand one another perhaps a little too well because we have shared the same wants, my lord.” She smiled as she leaned toward him once more. “And now we share a child. Perhaps in the future we will share more. Maybe I am too quick to dismiss the idea that we could find the love that my father and my mother had for one another. We may find that in the future, but for now we are finding trust.”

Tyrion took hold of her hand quickly, his grip squeezing about her hand in a comforting grasp of presence. “I never thought I would marry a lady quite like you, my love.”

“I never thought I would marry a lord like yourself,” Sansa added.

“We both know your younger self would dread the idea,” Tyrion replied.

“My younger self would loathe the idea of talking strategy and wars as opposed to babies and stitching,” Sansa assured him. Tyrion smiled sadly at her.

“That is true, my lady.” He pulled her hand close to his mouth, placing a familiar kiss on the back.

“We may have a future outside of this game, my lord.” Sansa found herself rejuvenated at the idea.

“There is an end?” He japed. Sansa let out a small laugh.

“I certainly hope so,” she replied. He held her hand as she stood, her arm straightening as she stretched to her height.

“Must you leave me, I was growing eager to hear of your proposal of a life together outside of this ugly and bloody game.” Tyrion pulled at her gently, beckoning her back to his lap.

“I am sure that the babe is finished with his afternoon sleep and will be in want of his dinner. I may return to such hopes when we have our own meal this evening, my lord.” She promised, leaning over and placing a kiss on his cheek. Tyrion caught hold of her jaw with his free hand, freezing her movement as he turned his head to place a kiss on her mouth. He kissed her deeply and wetly, her heart quickening in its pace as he gave her a bedroom kiss.

Robb’s cries from the other side of the apartment broke their moment, Tyrion letting go of her lips with a final grasp, his tongue sweeping over her bottom lip. Sansa pulled away completely, standing to her full height.

“I hope that you are able to glean some more insights from the maps and books, my lord,” Sansa cleared her throat before speaking. “Perhaps you will find a good plan to propose to Stannis regarding our approach to taking Winterfell back.”

“I will do my best, my love,” Tyrion promised.

“I knew I would not be disappointed.” She smiled at him before turning to leave.

When had they become so close to one another? How confusing it was to go from anger to love; what was this feeling sweeping over her? She pushed the thoughts aside as she went to attend to her son’s growing cries.


	50. Rogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all will love me when this fict becomes like 1000 chapters long (okay not really, but it's gonna be long). Leave a comment if you can! Happy Friday- Lydia

Sansa was growing impatient as the days passed quickly and still no decisive plan was made to ride north in order to meet Stannis Baratheon and make plans to take Winterfell together. Sansa and Tyrion had presented their joint idea at the council meeting to mixed reception; Lady Randa was in support of anything which would make the seizure of Winterfell more eminent, while Ser Albar was not comfortable with the plans of abandoning the support for Stannis when Winterfell was given back to its rightful heir. Ser Harry wanted to please Sansa and bring her the ancient castle, but he was still mistrustful of Tyrion's words and dedication to his Direwolf wife.

Lord Wyman provided the most heavy opposition; he did not want to move forward until Rickon was safely at White Harbor. Sansa knew the lord wanted a bargaining pawn, and further evidence that the Starks were far from depleted, but she did not want to cling to the small hope that her brother was indeed still alive and returning as Prince of the North, to succeed Sansa one day and take helm of the castle as the future King of Winterfell. She wanted as badly as Lord Wyman to have her brother safe and sound in the walls of White Harbor, but the reality was that Rickon was on Skagos, an island renowned for its brutal lifestyle, and he was a young boy unprotected and innocent. She knew that simple words could tear apart the most naive; surely beatings and torture could do worse if her brother was still alive.

She waited in one of the back halls, a line of doors against the walls entered into rooms which were reserved for guests visiting the castle for celebrations and merriment. Sansa was here for another purpose her sturdy shoes clicking on the stone floor as she paced the hall, her hands wringing one another as she practiced the proposition she had arranged in her head.

The most danger she was in at the moment was Tyrion finding out; she had left him with Robb and a premise that she was going to go to the godswood to pray for wisdom regarding the plan's delay and the handling of Lord Stannis. A lie she had fed her husband at King's Landing, but he was fool enough to believe her.

 _Or he truly trusts me that I cannot always be honest with everything I am doing?_ She wondered as she shivered against a wind which leaked in through the glass windows. She pulled the animal fur tighter around her shoulders, glad that her long hair was tucked in under the skin and kept her neck and ears warm.

"Lady Sansa," she was interrupted from thought as she turned to see a large woman dressed in armour appear at the end of the walkway. Her left hand hung at her side as her right hand draped on the handle of the great sword she kept strapped to her left hip, a natural pose of a skilled swordsman. She had seen Bronn himself stand in similar ways when he traveled with her about the castle.

"Lady Brienne," Sansa smiled as she waved her hands toward her body, signaling the woman to approach closer.

"I do not understand why you have called me here, my lady," Brienne looked about the empty hallway, her light eyebrows crossing as she wrinkled her nose.

"I wanted to speak in private with you, and as much as I believe these lords and ladies have the best interest in mind for my wellbeing, I do not doubt that includes spying on my actions and whereabouts." Sansa confessed.

"And what is so secretive that you need to speak with me at the back of the castle?" Brienne stood before Sansa and the girl took in the full height of the lady knight. She was tall and powerful, but Sansa could sense a touch of grace that came with her privileged upbringing as a lady, even if she looked as much a gentlewoman as Arya did.

"I want to leave White Harbor, with a small entourage, and I do not think Lord Wyman would be so keen on my departure," Sansa ushered the woman to a stone bench resting against one of the walls. Sansa sank easily down onto the cold surface, but Brienne's armour meant her seating was more cumbersome and awkward. Her height did not help.

"I still do not understand why you would be dishonest to the lord," Brienne answered. "He has treated you well and he has sworn to help you take back Winterfell."

"On his terms," Sansa put her hand out, resting it on Brienne's forearm. The woman looked at her with a wince, clearly unsure of how to take the gesture. "But Lord Wyman only wants to make a move if he has my young brother, Lord Rickon Stark. He is keeping me here until he has the young wolf in his grasp. He thinks the leverage will help him."

"And my lady disagrees?" Brienne asked.

"I have an heir, my lady, I have a well and beautiful son. I want my brother back alive, but I have learned that sometimes we cannot cling to hopeless fantasies. We may lose an opportunity to try to broker a deal with Lord Stannis now that he is not in conflict with House Bolton. This is when we need to go to the North and present our bargain. Not on the battlefield with uncertainty surrounding us. Just because I am a lady, does not mean that my presence should matter any less. My position and well-being mattered a lot to the Lannisters when I was in the lion's den, so much so that they gave me to their least likely lord in a way to preserve me and my inheritance. The whisper of my brother's possible existence changes all this? Certainly you can understand, a practiced and skilled lady knight yourself."

"Lady Sansa," Brienne's deeper voice was lined with uncertainty, and the woman shook her head, avoiding eye contact with Sansa. "I understand your grievance to coming second place as your male siblings, but I am not sure I can make such a commitment to rebel against Lord Wyman's wishes and escort you to the north."

"Why is that? You have no oath bound to the Manderlys that I know of." Sansa frowned. "Did you make a promise that I am unaware of before I arrived at White Harbor?"

"No, my lady, I made no such vows or oaths outside of my vows to Ser Jaime Lannister and your mother, Catelyn Stark."

"To keep me safe, I know you've told me." Sansa sighed. She knew that for appearance sake staying with Lord Wyman would be the most safe option. But Sansa knew complacency and missed opportunity could be as much a downfall as a blessing. "I need to take back Winterfell. If my brother is alive and returns to Westeros, I will yield over inheritance to him. Men die every day, my lady, surely you know better of this than I do, and I cannot keep placing trust in other people to go through with a plan. I need to start making moves myself."

"Lord Wyman is dependable," Brienne tried to reason with Sansa. "You can trust that he will have the best interests for your family. He has always remained loyal to the Starks; his opposition to Lord Stannis and the Boltons has proved such."

"I am not just a Stark anymore, my lady," Sansa replied. "I know what Lord Wyman will not say; they do not want my son, half a Lannister, to ascend the throne of the North. They fear another Tywin, another Cersei, another Jaime. Victorious, but cruel; sensible but steel hearted. They fear all the bad blood that must be coursing through my son's veins."

"You cannot fault them for such doubts, my lady," Brienne interrupted Sansa. Sansa smiled sadly at the bigger woman.

"Brienne, who did you originally promise your sword and allegiance to?" Sansa asked.

"Renly Baratheon, the man who should have been king," Brienne responded.

"And then you promised your sword and steel to my mother. A Stark, and now you say you and Jaime Lannister have an oath made together."

Brienne's cheeks turned pink as she nodded. "I have, my lady."

"You have many oaths to different Houses, some even at opposition with one another. But you promised these ladies and lords because you knew that the person you were swearing to was a well-intentioned person," Sansa replied. "You have sworn to my goodbrother, and I have sworn to my husband, to my child. I need to be sure that they are as safe as I am when the dust settles."

"You do not think Lord Wyman would be satisfied with allowing you to train up your son? He has welcomed Lord Tyrion to the council, so Ser Albar tells me."

"I do not think Lord Wyman believes I will be Queen of the North for long. I think he holds out trust that Rickon is alive stronger than I do," Sansa admitted. "But I do not think that Stannis Baratheon would want to see Tyrion as a Hand or King of the North. I think he would keep me alive, but my son and my husband? Perhaps he would be gracious to allow me to keep my child as an heir, but I think he would rather purge Westeros of the Lannisters once and for all. His hatred for the house runs deep, and none can blame him for the terrible fate which befell Robert and the Seven Kingdoms."

"Do you think the lord will accept me with as much love, seeing as I have been accused of killing Lord Renly?" Sansa could see the pain in Lady Brienne's blue eyes. And Sansa knew what Tyrion had seen in her own.

"You are not a kingslayer, Lady Brienne, no more than I am," Sansa assured her. "Let us go to Stannis together. I can keep you safe from the accusations that you had any hand in killing his brother, and you will keep me safe by acting as my personal guard."

"I am still not sure how comfortable I will be defying Lord Wyman," Brienne stood. "But I made a vow to Lady Catelyn that I would keep you safe. She is still living in some form or another, and thus my promise still stands. I will consider your requests as mere obedience to the lady's word." Brienne unsheathed her sword before Sansa, placing the tip of the mighty weapon into the stonework floor. She knelt before Sansa, both hands gripping the handle of the sword and her forehead resting on the edge of her hands. "I swear my sword and my protection to you, Sansa Stark, as I have sworn to protect you in an oath made to Lady Catelyn. I will stay true to my word and do all I can to serve you,"

"This really should be done in the godswood, before all the gods, old and new," Sansa smiled, reaching out to place a hand on the short, greasy blonde hair of the lady before her. "But in secret this shall have to do."

"My words are no less honorable here in the empty hall than they are before your old trees," Brienne vowed.

"I am pleased to hear such things," Sansa answered. "Come, let us walk together. We have much to discuss involving when we are to leave and whom we are to bring."

"We cannot have a large party, if you want to avoid detection from Lord Wyman as well as any who would wish you ill on the journey."

"We will have to travel in secret," Sansa frowned. "I supposed my child and my lord husband may make it a bit more challenging. But you are clever, Lady Brienne," Sansa replied. "You figured out where I would be hidden away." Sansa stood and watched the lady knight do the same. She then wrapped her arms around Lady Brienne upper arm in a show of affection and intimacy. A grip she used often when she walked with Lady Margaery, the girl holding her up when it seemed she would crumble and fall. "We must bring Podrick along with us, of course,"

"I do not think the boy would let you leave White Harbor without him," Brienne had been sporting an uncomfortable grimace when Sansa had taken her arm in hers, but the expression was replaced with a genuine laugh. "He would at the very least chase after you like an injured hound left behind on a hunt. He has taken quite a liking to your son."

"He has," Sansa agreed. "Who would have known that there was an ally with me all along in King's Landing in the shape of a squire?"

"He is a boy of unshakeable honor, my lady," Brienne attested.

"I am glad to hear you say that," Sansa looked up to the lady. "I was going to speak with you about training him to become a proper knight."

* * *

Tyrion entered the council room off the Great Hall to be greeted by grim faces by all but the one who would treat him the most kindly. Her face was not among the men and two ladies sitting 'round the table. Lord Wyman sat at the head, as was his normal place during meetings, Ser Harry was at his elbow, his face looked a mix of anger and satisfaction. Ser Albar was across from him, his lady sister beside him, both siblings with a look of remorse on their hardy features. Then there was Lady Brienne. Why was Brienne here? She was not one of the council members. And why was Brienne here and Sansa was not? A feeling of dread filled the pit of Tyrion's stomach.

"I am glad to see you were final able to arrive," Lord Wyman was the first to speak, his voice clearly annoyed by Tyrion's delay.

"My squire found me a bit hard to locate," Tyrion took to the chair across from Lord Wyman, forever his advisory, grabbing hold of the back of the chair and dragging it noisily backwards. Lady Randa shut her eyes, a small shake of her head was indicated by a few of her rich brown locks falling forward from behind her shoulder. "I was taking my son about the grounds."

"All that matters is that you have arrived," Lord Wyman waved his hand at Tyrion, dismissing the excuse.

"I am sure I was not called here to talk about my qualifications as a parent," he spoke up, as he climbed into the chair and turned to face the lord. "So why is it I am here, and Sansa is not?"

"It seems your…influence may have turned rogue our Queen of the North," Lord Wyman was the only one speaking, making Tyrion's blood boil. Was everyone else here and silent because of his command?

"Sansa has always been headstrong; she proved that when she left me behind in King's Landing to save herself from its sophisticated prison," he raised his eyebrows, his hands flattening out before him in a gesture of defense when he saw Ser Harry glare at him. "Not that I fault my lady wife for such actions, I merely make the point that she is not one who always does as she is told."

"She has been exceptionally cooperative since arriving in White Harbor," Lord Wyman retorted. Tyrion rolled his eyes.

"Does she have much of a choice? She is near as much a prisoner here as she was in King's Landing—"

"How dare you, Imp!" Ser Harry's chair groaned against the stone floor as he stood to his feet, reaching for the dagger strapped to his hip.

"Ser Harry, that will be enough for now," Lord Wyman's aged voice commanded, the boy sinking to his seat like a scolded puppy. "Though Ser Harry is rash in his execution, I feel much the same sentiment. Sansa is not a prisoner here; she is to be our Queen."

"But you have kept her from going forward with what she believes is the best course of action," Tyrion shook his head. "She has been willing for weeks to ride north to speak with Lord Stannis about terms of agreement to join forces and rise against House Bolton, yet you keep her waiting in the wings, just in case she can be called off with this false hope of her brother."

"Rickon Stark is very much alive," Lord Wyman interjected.

"Why, because some fool reported that he went to Skagos? You forged your own treatise with Stannis that you would support him if the Onion Knight was able to find Lord Rickon." Tyrion shook his head. "You want proof? You have Lady Sansa Stark in your hands and willing to risk angering a future king so she could have the North back. So she could reign as your Warden."

"With the Imp's child? Do you think the North will really rally behind her?"

"I think she needs to be given a chance, and she needs to stop being tortured with the idea of her brother being alive. As far as we know, Robb is the only blood family she has left, and he is not even of full Stark blood due to me." He could feel the rage building in his small belly as he drew his next threat. "I told one king that he would no longer torment my wife, and I can say the same thing to a lord."

"You make a lot of threats, Imp, when you are not in the position to say anything," Ser Harry was to his feet again, making his way around the table, the dagger produced in hand.

"Perhaps I am not as skilled at bending as my lady wife is when surrounded by enemies and obstacles in court," he made a point of glaring at Lord Wyman with his green eyes. "I am not so eloquent at taking the shit which is fed me and trying to use it to build a fire. I throw it back in their face."

Ser Harry was continuing in his descent upon Tyrion, Lord Wyman refusing to call off the knight. Tyrion felt a shiver of fear encompass his body as he realized perhaps he had talked himself into an impossible corner this time around. He had no friends in this room, even Lady Randa's loyalty was bought because of her love for Sansa.

"Enough, Ser Harry, there is little use in soiling your honor over a man who truly has affection for his lady wife," Brienne was the one to speak up, startling Tyrion and Harry, both turning their heads to look at the blonde knight. "We should tell the lord why we are truly here instead of making pointless threats back and forth to one another. The fighting among friends must stop; all houses have enough enemies as it is without turning on one another."

Tyrion looked to Harry, whose light features showed that he was reluctantly conceding to Brienne's plea. He put the dagger back into its hilt with a forceful shove, turning dramatically on spot from the small man and returning to his seat.

"Why are we here, Lady Brienne, seeing as you are the only one on this council who has any wish of revealing to me the true meaning of our gathering," Tyrion leant forward, ignoring the cold glares he was receiving from Ser Harry who had taken to his chair.

"I am afraid I have called such a council," Brienne admitted.

"And it was you who excluded Sansa?" Tyrion's eyes narrowed as he looked at the woman. Brienne's blue eyes floated to her lap, and she bit her lip uncomfortably.

"Yes, my lord," she said. "It is only because I know she would be angry with me."

"Why would she be angry with you, my lady?" Tyrion knew the answer before the woman could even answer: Brienne was going to be betraying Sansa's trust. There were few things Sansa could not forgive or put aside, he was realizing. But if her trust was compromised, he knew she would find it hard to put hope in that person again.

"She told me something which I swore to keep secret, but I did not think it would be a good idea to keep such information between she and myself. I made a pact with your brother, Jaime Lannister, that I would find Sansa and I would keep her safe. I fear that if I were to go along with her plan without saying anything to one who could help me protect her, that she would be in greater danger."

"What was it she told you?" Tyrion was burning with the need for information.

"She wants to leave White Harbor without telling anyone; she wants to ride north with a small entourage to the Wall, and she wants to speak with Lord Stannis of her own accord," Brienne confessed. "I do feel guilty for betraying her trust, but I see it as a foolhardy idea."

"She would not be alone, Lady Brienne," Tyrion replied. He had not known of this plan, but suspected if he admitted such lack of knowledge it would only further the trouble Sansa was to find herself in. He himself was fighting the burning feeling of rage in his throat which wanted to erupt and curse his lady wife for mistrusting him. "You wish for her protection, I promised to always offer her such."

He heard Ser Harry snicker next to Lord Wyman, and was glad that he could use the boy as a vent for his growing frustration and fury. "You, protect Lady Sansa?"

"Ser Harry," Lady Randa's voice was filled with warning as she looked across the table at the knight.

"Are we going to continue in our facades, that we believe that Tyrion Lannister can protect Sansa Stark? He can barely kiss her when he likes, much less swing a blade at the nearest foe which came toward her."

"Ser Harry, I think that is enough," Ser Albar interrupted. Tyrion felt his eyebrows cross; although he was gladdened by the defense the Royces were willing to offer for his dignity, he could not help but feel a growing anger at Ser Harry.

"No," Ser Harry laughed. "I would speak more harshly if there were not ladies in the room,"

"Are you going to question my ability to even fuck my wife properly?" Tyrion asked. Lady Brienne's pale cheeks reddened as she glanced up quickly at Tyrion. "Are you going to question my cock? Because I can guarantee I do not need to compensate for its lack like you have to for yours."

"Lord Tyrion," Lord Wyman's voice was even, but the anger at what Tyrion was saying was only thinly veiled. "We have had quite enough of your vulgarities."

Tyrion could see that Myranda Royce thought the opposite as she tried to hide a smile with the brush of her hand against her lips. He could see that at the least the lady was amused by Tyrion's accusations.

"What do you wish from me?" Tyrion held out his hands before him in question. "You did not call me here so that we could speak of what to do with my lady wife. And you certainly did not call me here so we could see my cock is much bigger than Harry's."

"You will pay for that, Imp," Ser Harry was clearly enraged, but he did not stand from his chair.

"We, the council, wish to know where Lady Sansa got such ideas about abandoning her most willing ally to do what she thought right in her own eyes. She would certainly not come up with the notion all on her own, there had to be one who was filling her head with silly ideas."

 _And you think it was me. It would shock you, my lord, to know that she did indeed come up with such a plan all of her own._ He was torn between being proud of his lady wife's cunning and feeling betrayed by being kept from the information.

"Here is my confession, then," Tyrion held his arms out at his sides, a willing target for their annoyance. "It was I who filled Sansa's head with the notion that she should flee her cage and go north to meet with Lord Stannis. I told her I would act as her guidance and her protection in the journey, and she so willingly believed me."

"So you admit that you were behind Sansa's treachery," Lord Wyman asked.

"Why would it be called treachery if she was to be _your_ Queen?" Tyrion asked. "Unless, of course, you call yourself as good a King maker as Varys. You are holding onto the hope that Rickon Stark will come back and agree willingly to be your Warden of the North," Tyrion narrowed his eyes. "But you know that the boy is less than five years; he would need a Regent to act in his place."

Lord Wyman shifted in his seat, his hands crossing over his fat belly. Tyrion smiled as he understood what was occurring. "Lady Sansa's novelty has worn off now that she has been reunited with me, and she chose to keep me. Is that it, Lord Wyman? She trusts me more than she trusts you, and that boils your blood."

"You will pay for all the things you say before this council, Half man!" Ser Harry was fidgeting in his seat, eager for the chance to plunge his dagger into Tyrion. Tyrion ignored the boy, looking at the lord at the other end of the table.

"She would not let you play Regent because she has me now, she wants me for her Hand," he cocked his head. "Was it supposed to be you, Lord Manderly? Was it supposed to be you who was Hand after Lord Baelish died?"

"You have found me out, Imp," Lord Wyman confessed. "Sansa does not know how to be half the leader her father was; the girl was always filled with silly fantasies about knights and puppies and flowers." _That she was,_ Tyrion thought. _Until my family and my cock taught her otherwise._ "I wanted to take the girl under my wing and train her to be a true Warden of the North. To find her a suitable husband; even Ser Jorah would make a better husband for her than a Lannister, if he was not already married," Wyman glared at Tyrion as he spoke. The little man realized how much trouble he had caused in regards to Wyman's plan. "She has been poisoned by your family, by the Tyrells. She will not know what to do when she is on that throne; and the only hope she had of surviving was on my account. If she were to take any sigil of her parents, she would be a Tully. Clearly loyal to family, duty, and honor. There is no reason as to why she would take back her lord husband who had a child on her."

Tyrion frowned as the lord attacked the nagging doubt which plagued Tyrion since his return. "You doubt the Wolf in her veins,"

"I think it has long been buried and beaten out," Wyman replied. "I think she does not know its strength any longer. But Rickon—Rickon may still be able to find the wolf in himself yet, especially if he survived the island of Skagos. He could become the Warden the North wants, the North needs."

"So you deny Sansa her freedom because you have no trust in her, yet you expect her to place all her trust in you," Tyrion shook his head with disgust. "And what if she were to go North? To win Winterfell for your little wolf lord whenever he returned? Would you then give her your blessing?"

"Do not convince your wife to make a foolish mistake in regards to my commands," Lord Wyman replied. "That is all I will tell you, Imp. Do not forget your place, and who you are in regards to this castle. You are a Lannister, and there are fewer numbers of you by the day. Else I would feed you pies which contained the flesh of your cursed family," Wyman stood, his enormous belly making it an awkward stumble to his feet. When he did stand before the table, dwarfing Tyrion even further with his size, he turned his head and spat on the floor. "One Lannister has my affection, and it is only because she was forced to be given to you. You will do right by her when you are in White Harbor. And doing right by her means that you will stay here in the castle where it is safe, and you will convince Sansa that Robb will go off to one of the Northern houses as a ward when he is of age."

"That would break her," Tyrion retorted.

"Then get another child on her. You should be able to if your cock is as desirable as you claim it to be."

"Only for you to send that one off as a ward?" Tyrion knew that the idea made sense to the lord, but he could not help but feel anger at the threat.

"Lady Catelyn had five children, and might have had more if she had been spared from the war. But your family made sure that she did not. Give Sansa as many children as the family members which your clan slaughtered; restitution for what she lost."

"They will not bring back her family," Tyrion crossed his hands over his chest.

"No, but they may give the North hope that there is a chance for rebuilding what was lost," the lord looked down at Tyrion. "If you beget a girl, mayhaps we will marry her to an heir of Lord Rickon, returning Sansa's children to the North." He turned from the table. "There is to be no more talk of Lord Stannis and leaving until Rickon is brought back to his rightful home. This meeting is adjourned."

The lords and ladies around the table stood slowly, each glancing at Tyrion before leaving the room. It was Lady Brienne who stayed the latest, a frown on her face as she approached the small man.

"I did not mean to cause such trouble," Brienne replied. "And I could tell that you did not know; do not be angry with Sansa—she was most like to tell you soon, my lord."

"I do not understand why you betrayed her," Tyrion shook his head. "But perhaps it was better that they knew before Sansa merely left."

"She should have told Lord Wyman," Brienne reasoned. "She should not leave without saying something."

"But she would not have had a conversation, and clearly Lord Wyman is a man of conversation and agreeing with his word," Tyrion looked up at her. Brienne's face was weather beaten and worn; her blue eyes had dark circles underneath. They were the only pretty things about her, and even they were tarnished.

"Are you still going to follow Sansa?" Brienne asked. "Or convince her otherwise."

"I believe Sansa is making the right decision; we cannot sit and wait while we cling to a false hope that her brother is alive and well. I will not allow her to broken with such false stories again. She has lost too much already." He smirked. "There is only one command I will obey of Lord Wyman's."

"And what would that be?" Brienne asked. Tyrion looked up at her one last time before pushing off his chair to land on his feet on the stone floor.

"I will get her with more children, if she is of wanting when all this is over," Tyrion walked toward the door, the rage in his belly still unsettled. "Wolves never survive on their own; she is most in need of a pack."

 _Even if her children are maned and crossbred._ He thought as he pushed through the door.


	51. Fealty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normally I don't update so closely together, and I do mean to update this story once a week still, but today is DtC's birthday! I have been working on this story for over a year, but today marks its one year publishing date. And I thought to myself- what a better way to celebrate than another chapter. Poor Sansa in this one, but really, nothing does come easy for this girl. Hope you enjoy! - Lydia

_Always games of waiting,_ Sansa thought as she paced the floor of her apartment, her fingers twisting about each other in anticipation. _I will have no more fingers by the end of this._ She was also chewing upon her lip, glad that Septa Elyse had agreed to take her son out for a walk about the grounds so late in the day. Sansa wondered if the septa had an unnatural sense about her which allowed the woman to know when Sansa needed moments alone with Tyrion, the woman sometimes even disappearing with the boy into the nursery or her own room to play with, as Sansa and her husband debated and talked strategies regarding taking back Winterfell and the North as a whole. Tyrion was as patient a teacher with her in this area as he was with her in house knowledge and the sheets.

She was stuck here pacing the floors in an eternal game of wait instead of talking strategy with her husband because of the council. The council called a last minute meeting excluding Sansa, and she knew that Lord Wyman must have caught wind of her plan, calling together the rest of the group to denounce her. Her heart pounded in her chest and she felt dizzy as her breath quickened. She hadn't even told Tyrion yet, that she planned to quickly leave White Harbor and move forward to the Wall where Stannis was gathering arms and strength, waiting out the wounded Boltons who were slowly starving in the walls of Winterfell.

She knew that her lord husband may have some opposition to the hasty idea, as she was sure she was putting her relationship and alliance with Lord Wyman in peril, but he may agree that waiting was not going to be the correct policy for much longer.

The door opening startled Sansa as she made her way to the far side of the room; she turned violently to face the intruder of her thoughts. She was glad to see Tyrion enter, a crude Hand of the Queen brooch pinned to his brown jerkin. He pushed the door open with gusto, but slowed as he took in the sight of a startled Sansa.

"You are back," she greeted him. He looked at her with no response, his body turning as he shut the door behind him. Sansa felt her heart jump into her mouth, threatening to choke her. "Why are you so silent?" She looked down at Tyrion's glowering green eyes.

"I could ask you the same thing," he responded and she could hear the growl in his voice.

"What was it the four of you spoke of?" She folded her hands before her hips.

"The foolhardy decision that you made in going behind Lord Wyman's back to abandon White Harbor without his knowledge or approval." Tyrion's voice was louder than he normally spoke, causing Sansa to jump.

"How did he know?" Sansa asked.

"Lady Brienne confessed it, she was the one who called the council," Tyrion shook his head. "But you know the absolutely astounding part of this entire meeting? The fact that the lady knight knew what was being conspired but the accused's _husband_ did not." He stepped toward her, anger on his face.

"I was preparing to tell you, Tyrion. I promise. I just wanted to be sure to present to you a plan that would actually come to fruition," Sansa shook her head.

"How could you just go forward without consulting with me? You are risking the loss of an alliance with one of the strongest Houses of the North, one with money and with arms. Do you know how rare that is now that most of Westeros has been milked of coin to fight for this fucking throne?" Tyrion was right out angry with her, and she slightly feared his tirade. "And you are seeking the help of a lady knight of all things before you even consider speaking with your Hand, much less your husband."

"I do not think you should be angry with me." Sansa said. "I wanted to come to my Hand with an idea that would work."

"You were not coming to me with an idea, Sansa, you were going to come to me with a full out plan. What would make you even think of doing this?" He gestured his hands away from his head, turning and shaking his head. "We have walls and protection here, the promise of a larger army coming. And your son? Did you even think about your _son_?"

"Do not even accuse me of thinking of anything but him," Sansa felt her fear turn into anger. "I want this to happen because of him. How long are we supposed to sit here and act like a puppet to Lord Wyman? I am done singing other's songs to them. I am going to make a decision in this game and I am going to take advantage of a chance set right before me. And I am going to do it because of my son!" Sansa replied.

"You truly think that Stannis Baratheon is going to spare Robb? Do you think he would allow the boy to grow up able to inherit the seat in the North?" Tyrion's mock laugh irritated her.

"He might have, you and I have talked of this time and again. I know the risks I am taking, but I think they are worth them. I thought we were of the same mind when it came to this topic." She was irritated, both with Tyrion's stubbornness and, she realized, Brienne's betrayal. "And I would have made sure to save you as well. Do not act like you are terrified for Robb alone; you are scared that I am going to get rid of you, because I did not tell you of the plan straight away." Sansa turned on him.

"I am sure that as soon as we get to the Wall my head will be on a chopping block not long after our arrival."

"Do you think I would go to the Wall without this knowledge? That is why I asked Lady Brienne to accompany us. She is a skilled swordswoman, she can act as our personal guard and I can be sure that her promise to my mother is kept." Sansa looked down on him, her eyes a steeled blue. "She instead betrayed my confidences and clearly thought it better to tell everything before the time was ripe."

"She was in the right, Sansa," Tyrion gripped her wrist with his hand. Sansa felt her arm burn with memory as she yanked her hand from her husband's grip, sending him flying back. She recoiled against the wall.

"Sansa?" The furiousness in his voice dissipated and he looked at her with widened green eyes. Sansa felt her shoulders shake as she pulled from him.

"Do not touch me," she warned as she turned her back to him. "Do not lay your hands on me."

"Sansa, my lady, I did not mean you—"

She felt the walls closing in, the heat of the room was stifling and she was choking in the furnace. She needed to be among the whistling winds and the light snowfall that occasionally graced the keeps and walls of White Harbor. She needed distance.

Sansa took to the door of the apartments, her mind flushing away the thoughts of her son and her husband, of her responsibilities and her promises. "I am going to the godswood, my lord, perhaps when I return you will be of a more civil mood."

"Pray that I will be, Sansa," he answered, and she was surprised to hear no biting cynicism in his voice. He meant her to speak words of piety to the deaf gods on his behalf. She paused with one hand on the door, looking back at him, his green eyes still burning under his thick brow. Sansa looked down at her shoes before turning and shutting the door behind her.

Sansa grabbed for her wrist as soon as she shut the door, the skin burning as though Tyrion's grip was hot coal on steel, melting through her bones to harm her. She had yanked away from him, pulling herself from his grasp. His touch had not been iron; it was a gentle vice to get her to stop, to listen perhaps.

 _He did not do the terrible things to you Lord Petyr did_. She tried to reason with herself. But she could not stop her hands from their trembling, nor her lip from its quaking. Her body was betraying her and her thoughts as is began to tense in the need to vomit. The open corridor's breeze kissed lightly at burning skin and it was easing the tempest in her middle. Each breath was bringing clarity to her anger induced frenzy.

' _He had a wife before you'_ She heard Littlefinger's voice, raspy and low in her head, sending shivers down her spine. A conversation held on the boat meant to bring her Winterfell filled her mind. She did know, Tyrion had told her, she confessed. ' _And did he tell you that when he grew bored with her, he made a gift of her to his father's guardsmen? He might have done the same to you, in time.'_ She tried to shake the voice from her head but it repeated over and over. What danger had she possibly walked into? Was she truly safe in taking Tyrion back as her lord husband, giving him her shield of safety when he could so easily hurt her as he had hurt his wife before?

Sansa wanted the thoughts to wash away, to not remember the tales she had been entrusted and to forget all that was whispered in that dark ship of Lord Petyr's hire. _The Mockingbird told you that Tyrion would give you over to his guards as he did his first wife, when he was bored of you. Perhaps boredom comes of anger. Are you truly safe?_

"No!" Sansa cried, pushing her palms to her eyes, trying to physically push the memories away. "No, no, no." The thoughts would not leave her; she could only hear Lord Petyr's voice and see Tyrion's furious green eyes boring into her.

 _He had not wanted to hurt his wife, right? Everything done to her was because his father willed it. It was not he that did it to Tysha, no not truly._ The thoughts were hollow pleas for redemption. _And he could not hurt me now, there is no one he could go to and command that I be brought low._

Furthermore, she reasoned, he had left her, back at the apartments. He had been knocked back and he kept his distance when she commanded him to leave her alone. He had walked away from her and left her whole and untouched. She could feel the shaking in her hands subside a little, the beating of her heart lessen. He would not hurt her the way that Lord Petyr had. Leaving bruises on her cheeks and fingermarks on her skin because he grabbed her or struck her in his volatile anger.

He could not overpower her.

He would not over power her. He would certainly not harm her, he had the opportunity to when he did hold the key to power and force and he let her make her own decisions. Why was she so sudden to doubt him when he turned angry with her?

 _Because he is confusing me. He is acting out of passion, and passion makes mistakes._ She shuddered under the thought.

She tried to push the thoughts from her mind as she descended the stairs to the main courtyard of White Harbor's castle, making her way quickly through the quiet area and slipping through back halls to reach the gardens and the godswood.

Sansa thought about going into the forest regarded for pious prayers and dedication, but the gardens were covered with a light dusting of snow that had swept through during the afternoon and she found the flake kissed shrubbery and architecture alluring. She passed a withering rose bush, her hand reaching out to touch a dying white bud with sadness.

 _And what of the rest?_ What had happened to Margaery after her escape? What had happened to the widow of two husbands who wanted nothing more than the power and the praise found in the glory of a queenship? Had she been put on trial too, her thorns doing little to the axe that would come down and behead her? Was she still alive, was she safe?

Was anyone truly safe anymore?

She let out a deep breath which danced as mist in the cool air. She wrapped the fur she had absently grabbed hold of on her way out of her apartment shared with Tyrion, her shoulders enjoying the cold but not quite ready for the indifferent touch of frigid winds.

Aside from the occasional wind song that echoed between the arched entrances of the castle, the snow touched haven was silent. She could hear the frozen grass crunch under her boots as she moved through the gardens, nowhere near as great or large as those in the Vale, but beautiful in its own right.

Sansa picked a bench which had lost much of its snow from sitting in the half hidden sun most of the day, and settled onto its cold hard surface. The last time she had wandered a garden she had taken to building a replica of Winterfell in the hopes of finding someone to help her take it back, her home she was prevented from taking by a false father. Now she had the chance to do so, to take back the real castle standing in the snow, and she found herself stopped by a lord husband she had once thought dead. The memories flooded her mind, ones she tried so earnestly to push away. Was there ever the hope of healing when this war of Kings and Crowns was over?

The crunching of snow behind her pulled Sansa from her thoughts; she whipped around to look behind her, her chest heaving in fright as she faced her intruder.

Ser Harry was dressed in furs aplenty making him look bulkier than his muscular body already was. She tried to suppress a giggle as she took in the cumbersome knight who walked towards her.

"What are you doing out in the cold, Ser Harry?" Sansa asked, placing a bare hand over her warm lips.

"I would ask you very much the same, Sansa, but you are the Queen of the North, I suppose. Ice and snow are in your bones," he answered her as he closed the distance between them. "May I sit?"

"Are you going to lecture me as well?" She asked as she gestured to the open spot next to her. Harry pulled off a fur cap which hide his eyes, and brushed his blonde hair with reddened fingers.

"What would I lecture my lady about?" His eyebrows crossed for a moment, but then arched as his mouth opened and his head bobbed in a nod. "Ahh, yes, your little plan to take off with Brienne of Tarth and go forth on a heroic expedition to confront Stannis Baratheon. Even you must admit that the idea is a bit foolhardy."

"The instinct has preserved me thus far," Sansa replied.

"I suppose it has," Harry let out a small laugh. "To be honest with you, my lady, I feared you would send me on my way. I know I have not earned good graces from you since our meeting, and for that I am truly sorry."

"Perhaps if you were less concerned with winning my hand, Ser Harry, we could become friends,"

"Friends? Friends with Sansa Stark," Harry shook his head mockingly and Sansa smacked his padded arm with the back of her hand.

"Do you find me so lofty as to be unapproachable?" Sansa was serious in her asking. She would be of little effectiveness if she was unable to be approached.

"I think you are a woman of stern mind and steel heart," Ser Harry replied, his hands resting on the bench besides his thighs, his fingers wrapping around the edge of the seat. He leaned toward Sansa. "Qualities I was quick to see as flaws, but you were correct in your assertion that such tendencies have kept you alive in this game."

"I am glad you can concede," Sansa smiled over at him.

"Now that I have answered your question regarding the lecture, perhaps you can now answer mine," his blue eyes danced in the bright light of the gardens. She was reminded of how very handsome he was despite his less than appealing interactions with women.

"Which question is this?" Sansa turned her head so she no longer looked at him, her cheeks flushing at her private admiration of the knight's pleasant features.

"Why are you out here, without little Robb especially?" Harry asked her once more.

"I just wanted to walk in the cold air, clear my mind. I am sure I will need to speak with Lord Wyman regarding my untamed decisions," she replied.

"Sansa, are you alright?" Harry let go of the bench with his right hand and replaced the stone with Sansa's thigh. She felt the skin tingle with the contact.

"I am fine, good ser, I give you my word," she looked at the hand and not at him, her eyes looking at the long fingers, the fine lines of the back of his muscled hands.

"I will speak true to you now," he squeezed her thigh with his hand and she felt the shivers skitter up her thigh and cause her upper body to shake in reaction. "A friend of mine reported hearing a…confrontation in your apartments—"

"Are you spying on me?" Sansa looked up at him with wide eyes. Harry moved his hand, his eyebrows flying upwards as he leaned away from her.

"I just want to be sure you are kept safe, Sansa, from adversaries. You are in a precarious position due to your elevated status. You are a Queen, my lady, and I would not want anyone to get the idea that they could come into your presence unannounced and cause you harm." Harry replied, his features settling back into their proper positions on his face, his dark blue eyes traced her face.

"That is a very noble thing for you to wish," Sansa said. "But I can assure you that I have plenty of eyes watching me. Podrick would never leave me to my own devices, not after what happened with Ser Shadrick, and Tyrion is with me now."

"Ah, the man who killed his father and the man's whore," Harry's left eyebrow raised as he cocked his head.

"I have told you, you can trust him." Sansa assured the knight.

"He strains my trust in him when I have my servants reporting angry shouting coming from behind your doors and you telling him to lay his hands off you," Harry insisted. Sansa shook her head, looking at her lap as her hair fell over her shoulders. He had the wrong idea, only whispers and outlines of the truth.

"It was not like that, Ser Harry," Sansa said.

Harry nodded his head once, rigidly, and looked away from her, his bottom lip curling into his mouth as he chewed the red skin. He did not speak and she saw no reason to say more. Silence grew between the two as the wind blew through the courtyard and once again performed its song.

"When I was told that you were alive, Sansa," Harry broke the quiet and caused her head to jerk upwards, turning it to look over at him. He did not look at her, but his body leaned towards her, his shoulder barely brushing hers. "When I was told that Lord Baelish had you in his keep and that he was going to marry you, I was jealous. I wanted you, Sansa. Your beauty was renowned and your father one of the most revered men in all of Westeros. A great House, a great inheritance, a great woman," Harry's eyes looked to her lap and then slowly made his way up toward her face, taking a moment to examine every bit of her body along the way. The survey was intimate and Sansa was not sure whether she welcomed the admiration or detested the exhibition. "And when I saw you in the trade town, I knew that I wanted you, Sansa. I knew that you were the kind of Lady who would do good things for the Vale, for the Eyrie as a whole. I knew you would be a good ally, a shrewd thinker,"

"Why do you flatter me so?" Sansa leaned over and nudged his shoulder with hers, her eyes narrowing as a smile crossed her mouth. "You will be a good leader for the Vale. Do your best not to produce anymore bastards while you are there."

"I flatter you, my lady, because every council meeting, every moment I spend speaking with you, I know that you are exactly what I saw and imagined that first day. And I find myself still wanting you. I would take Robb in as my own, I would treat you well. I would be sure that my strong arms could carry you and would hold you late at night. I would give everything to protect you and fight for you. When Lord Wyman asked the council today on how to respond to your intrigue, I wanted to challenge him to a duel for questioning your motive."

"That would be foolhardy," Sansa assured him. His face was much closer to his and she could see the light freckles that were beginning to fade across his nose and under his eyes. They were small imperfections on smooth, clean skin. His nose was strong and symmetrical, and his mouth beneath was full and red. She wondered for a breath how it would be to kiss those lips. "What did the council decide?"

"The dwarf said that he would take full responsibility for the actions you presented, that it was he that suggested you go and speak with Stannis. He said he wanted to move swiftly, to keep it quiet under Lord Wyman's nose. We all knew that he probably threatened you with something, else you would have most certainly told us. I told them not to doubt your courage and honor, my lady." Harry's beautiful lips parted to show straight teeth, each in their place and bright. She flittered her eyes back to his, looking into the deep blue mottled with grey that reflected her faint image.

"Tyrion told them it was his idea?" Sansa asked.

"You want to talk about foolhardiness; it is known that Stannis would rather kill him than see him near the Northern throne." Harry replied. "I told Lord Wyman that you must have had your head clouded with the Imp's suggestions, but perhaps it was not so bad a plan. You could win an important ally, one that Lord Wyman wanted on his side when he has your brother rescued from Skagos." Harry's muscled hand moved from the bench to touch her face, his weathered fingers roughly tracing the smooth line of her cheek.

"He took the blame?" Sansa felt her eyes fill hot with tears.

"He wants to see himself die, Sansa." Harry laughed at the thought. "Though, perhaps widowhood would become you. And perhaps a new husband would grace you even better."

Sansa's breath hitched and she remained frozen by the thought. She was about to turn from Harry when he leaned forward and placed his lips on hers.

His kiss was full, his mouth bigger than hers and his lips heavy and muscled. He pulled her mouth with his, his tongue tracing the edges of hers. He tasted of warmth and ale and her head twirled with confusion. His mouth was bittersweet and overpowering. Where was the sweet taste of wine? The gentle release of pleasure and contentment when he released her lips.

Sansa shook her head, pulling away from Ser Harry with such force that he accidentally bit her lip as he took her mouth in for another caress. She fell off the bench into the frost beneath her, the ice cooling the heat that had accumulated in her palms.

"Sansa!" He cried, extending his hand out to her to help her up, sliding from the bench and squatting to reach her more fully. His long muscled legs pushed against the fabric of his breeches and Sansa was reminded even more of how wrong this all was.

"I am sorry, Ser Harry, I cannot," Sansa crawled backwards away from him, raising her arm in defense. "Do not kiss me again, ser."

"Sansa, I did not mean to offend you—" Ser Harry approached her, his hand still extended. "I just wish to see you happy."

"I am _Lady_ Sansa to you, ser." Sansa ignored his offer for assistance, leaning back further from him. "You wish to be friends with me, but you continue to want my body and my inheritance. You are no different than Petyr Baelish."

"Will you slit my throat while you crawl atop me naked, temptress?" His eyes were hard as he looked at her.

"Perhaps I will, and you will be burning with desire and I will smile as I watch you fade without ever being able to _touch_ me." Sansa could not believe the words coming from her mouth, but she could not silence them either.

"Do you not understand a good jape?" He growled.

"I do when a pleasant one has been made," she answered. "My _husband_ is very good at making japes, ones I do enjoy."

"Lady Sansa!" A voice called over the bushes. Sansa smiled with relief as she realized it was Podrick who called her.

"I am here near the bench, Pod," she cried, looking at Ser Harry as he knelt in defeat.

Podrick's footsteps quickened and he was at her side in a few breaths. "You are on the ground, m'lady."

"So I am, Podrick. Perhaps you can remedy this?" She looked up at him.

"Yes, of course, m'lady," he extended his hand and Sansa took it, grabbing tight to the boy's strong arms as he pulled her to her feet. "Has Ser Harry done something to hurt m'lady?" Podrick stepped in front of her, placing his arm in front of her in a protective gesture.

"I think he is more hurt than I am," Sansa replied as she looked down at the man.

"Please, Sansa, I did mean you no harm. I just wanted to let you know that—" Harry shook his dampened blonde hair, his head falling in defeat. "My words mean nothing to you now."

"Perhaps if things were different, Ser Harry, you could have had the wife you wished for. If I were the girl I once was, I would have run to you in moments. But I am not the girl I was and you are not the husband I need. You are the one that I once dreamed of, the groom of my fantasies, of no doubt give that. But I am woman who needs now, not wants."

"Sansa—"

" _Lady_ Sansa," Podrick interrupted. Sansa smiled once more.

She gently pushed Podrick aside, the boy watching her guardedly as she walked past him and to the knight. She extended her hand to the man and Harry took it with burning red cheeks. "If you wish for any comradeship, swear fealty to my son, that you will do what you can for him. I have fealty I need, even if perhaps I find myself frustrated and angered and disappointed with the gods' blessing." Sansa turned, brushing her skirts out. "Come, Podrick, we should be returning. The sun is starting to set and the winter is bitter cold and unforgiving in the dark," she looked over at Harry once more as she spoke to the squire.

"Of course, m'lady, Lord Tyrion has been waiting for you return," Podrick responded. Sansa reached out and wrapped her arms about the squire's, causing the man to turn red once more. She led Podrick away from the bench and back through the gardens.

"Is Robb in any trouble?" She turned to look at the boy. He looked back at her with his dark eyes, his eyebrows twisting in confusion.

"No, m'lady," he answered.

"Then why is it you are after me?"

"As I told you, m'lady, m'lord wished to be sure you were well and out of trouble." Podrick replied. "He sent me out after you,"

"He did not come himself?" Sansa chewed her lip as she held tightly to Pod's arm.

"He would not say so, but I think he knew you would be angry with him, and he did not wish to further upset you, m'lady." He replied. "He is very distressed at your leaving."

"You do not have to make excuses for him, Podrick," Sansa sighed.

"But he is," the man insisted. "I think he is quite remorseful about his argument with you, if I may speak about him so."

"Yes, Podrick," she patted his arm. "You may speak of him so."


	52. Apologies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday, hope you guys enjoy! And don't forget to check out the new mini fict Lovers That Went Wrong.~Lydia

The apartment was warm when Sansa entered with Podrick, and she quickly shed the fur skin which adorned her shoulders. Podrick took the covering from her and placed it on a chest near the door to dry off. He then left the apartment to return to the servant's quarters further down the hall.

Sansa brushed through her hair with her fingers as she walked through the first room, the crackling of the fire lit in the sleeping quarters filled her body with shudders as she was enveloped completely with the heat drifting from through the archway.

When she entered the next room, she could not contain her smile when she came upon Tyrion lying on his back on the pillows. Stretched across his stomach, his head resting on Tyrion's chest, was Robb. The baby's breathing was contented, his small body rising and falling with his father's. Sansa removed her wet boots before continuing further, her thick wool socks maneuvering silently across the hard floor. She picked her way through the pillows, kneeling at the crown of Tyrion's head, the caps of her knees pulling down the pillow his blonde curls rested on.

She gripped the side of Tyrion's temples, her fingers resting on the indentation of his cheek, one thumb pressed against the raised scar on his right side. She leaned forward, pressing a kiss onto his forehead, then replacing her lips with her own forehead. She was contemplating curling up beside them on the pillows, her body close to her family, as the warmth of the fire made her drowsy.

Tyrion stirred and silenced the contemplation, his eyes slowly opening with a couple blinks. He let out a groan as he stretched; his hand rubbed the flat bridge of his nose.

"Sansa?" His voice was filled with the drunken groan of a wakened sleeper. She placed another kiss on his forehead in answer. He took the moment to grab hold of her face, pulling her towards his body and tilting his head up to kiss her on his mouth. She moaned unintentionally as her lips were greeted with the sweet taste of wine and the gentle caress of his red lips. "You returned,"

"I could not stay away for long, Robb needed me," Sansa answered as she looked down into his green eyes. They danced about her face, his eyebrows depressing to indicate sadness. She smiled, placing a second kiss on his lips, chaste and sweet ."I suppose I may need you as well."

"Not as much as I need you, Sansa," Tyrion replied. He leaned up gently to kiss a third time. "I am glad you returned."

Sansa, wordless, pulled from his grip and shifted to a squatted position, taking the slumbering Robb in arms. She placed the boy in the crook of her arm as he let out a small gasp at the sudden movement. She paused as his eyes blinked open, but they shut quickly and she quietly crossed the room to place him on the bed, putting him in the center so that he would not roll off.

When she was sure her son was safe and sleeping she turned back to Tyrion. He had sat up, looking at her with sleep bleary eyes. His curls were messy atop his head, several sticking up toward the sky. Sansa sunk to the floor before him, her hands reaching out to settle the bed head.

"I did not mean to…to be so angry with you," Tyrion spoke first. She looked down at him, her hands returning to her lap when they were satisfied with her work. "I should have spoken to you more kindly, I should have explained why I was upset and that it was not because of your plan. We agreed together it was a good idea. I should not have treated you so harshly," he looked at her wrist as he spoke. "And I should not have grabbed you." He shook his head. "I was a fucking fool for trying to physically stop you, Sansa, after everything you have been through with Littlefinger. And I have just fucked this further."

Sansa grabbed hold of his chin, and he silenced immediately. She ran her thumb along his lips as she shook her head.

"You are angry with me because I did not consult with you, and you are angry because you think that I would get you killed. Do you mistrust me so much?" She looked at him as she spoke.

"What am I to think, Sansa? Seven hells and fuck the gods, I am not sure anymore what you are going to do, if you wish me to speak truly." Tyrion looked up at her, his lowered eyebrows expressed fury, but his green eyes were not angry. She saw the deadness, the hurt behind them. "You ran off without me once, you left my head on the chopping block. Now you go and are speaking with Brienne about going against Lord Wyman's wishes—I just do not want to see you hurt, Sansa, but you make it hard when I do not know what you are going to do next. How am I to know that you are going to return to me safe?"

She looked down at Tyrion with a frown, her gaze still held his haunted green eyes. The thought of Joanna Lannister came to her, and Tysha, the lying whore. They were supposed to return safely, they were supposed to remain true. They had lied to him, purposefully or not—just as another had hurt him after Sansa had escaped. "Why did you kill Shae?"

Tyrion jumped with the question, his mouth turning into a grimace, his head shaking as he looked away from her. "She is dead and gone, Sansa, in what seems like a lifetime ago."

Sansa took his chin in hand again, tilting his head back up to look at her. "What made you want to kill her?"

"When I say what I am going to say, it is going to sound like horseshit, Sansa," he laughed bitterly as he shook his head. "Before you, before our wedding, before our…relationship, whatever we can call our loveless fucking…I loved Shae. She was kind to me, and she listened to me, or I thought she did. I brought her to King's Landing to stay by my side because I did not want her to be far from me. I wanted her, I wanted her wholly; physically, yes, you know my heavy desires for lust," Tyrion gently reached out to place a hand on her arm. "But I wanted her heart." His mouth was wet as he spoke, shining in the candlelight. Sansa looked back up to his eyes, but they were elsewhere. "Even when I returned from the Battle of Blackwater, when I returned back scarred, more ugly. More a…a monster."

Sansa reached out and grabbed his hand, her fingers gripping his thumb. He stopped, his eyes falling to her grasp.

"She stayed with me. I thought I was in love. I thought she loved me, and I loved her. She was mine and I was hers—that was what we told one another." He closed his eyes as he shook his head, the smile that had crossed his wet mouth when she took his hand in hers returning to a pained grimace. "And then I went to my father's room when Jaime helped me escape. I do not know why I went, I just _had_ to. And I was angry. I was angry that I was blamed for Joffrey's death, that I was going to die, that Oberyn was killed. I was bitter that you had left me, even if you promised you would be gracious if our paths ever crossed one day," he looked up at her. "I realized, then, that I did not love Shae. I loved you." He drew her hand up to his mouth, kissing it gently. "But when I found Shae in my father's bed, there for the gold as she was with me for the gold, I…I wanted her dead. I had loved her, once, and I had loved her fiercely. Or as fiercely as I thought myself capable, my selfish, sad self, and she did not love me. She had paraded her false love like a banner of truth and it wrenched my heart. I loved her and she fucked my father. I loved you and you left me behind. Love was an enemy to me in that moment and I wanted to destroy everything that I once loved. I…I choked her with gold, a chain made of it," he closed his eyes, his nose wrinkling with his forehead, and Sansa knew he was living every painful moment, as she did when she thought of killing Petyr. "and she scratched at me and I…I could hear her gasp next to my ear. And she was gone."

"And then you put a quarrel in your father's belly." Sansa said.

"And then I put a quarrel in my father's belly. Because his love was a true as Shae's was." He frowned as he looked away from Sansa. "Now that you have heard the horrible crimes I have committed, your love will be lost. If I even had it," He laughed at himself.

Sansa felt her heart compress as she heard him speak. What he had done was wrong; she could not say that what he had committed did not frighten her. But she also took pity; he was looking for returned affection and Shae had played him false for coin. Sansa surprised herself as she felt a bit of resentment toward the woman who she had once thought she could call a friend. How true was Shae's civility then?

She looked at Tyrion now, truly looked at him. His brutish forehead was not strong and smooth like Ser Harry's. His nose was depressed and small. His scar ate at one of his thick eyebrows and crossed his face to mar his cheek. The skin about it was raised and purpled; the scar was the darkest red one could get before becoming black. The mouth below his short, upturned nose was small and square, like the shape of his face. His eyes were tired and sad; a fierce jade green that always seemed haunted and challenged. His features too close together compared to the symmetrical, beautiful face of Ser Harry.

Septa Mordane had been right when she told Sansa that everyone had their glimmer of beauty. Tyrion was not beautiful like she was; he was not a handsome knight that Sansa had dreamed about. He was not wrong when he had japed about not being the husband of her dreams on the day of their wedding.

But Sansa found him beautiful. He was able to find mercy for her when she could have easily been beaten and raped and no one would have said a word. He was gentle with her; she recalled their first night together when he felt guilty about making her suffer during their first joining, taking the time to touch her gently, to learn her from their first moments. He was witty and clever, able to talk himself out of corners, even if he had talked himself into them. And he took her humiliation on his head though he held plenty of his own. The night of the wedding, when he drew attention to himself; the times he stood up to Joffrey in her defense, even when it was frowned upon in the court. _And just as you told the obstinate Harry, he was the husband your wise father promised you._

"Why did you tell them that it was entirely your idea to go and meet with Stannis," she asked, reaching out with her other hand to take his.

"Do you think Lord Wyman wants his future Queen impulsive and unreliable? With Rickon's whereabouts weaving in the gossip his prideful ears hear, he wants to be sure you are far from Winterfell. It would make more sense that your conniving demon Imp would make hasty plans." He answered her woodenly.

"You are too smart to put yourself in such danger," Sansa squeezed his hand in hers, as Harry had squeezed her thigh.

"Perhaps," Tyrion smiled sadly to himself. "But I am not smart enough to allow my lady wife to get herself in trouble."

"You did not have to put that blame on your shoulders," she assured him. "I could have taken the scolding. I am going to do as I please anyway," she tried to laugh to lighten the mood.

"I wanted to, Sansa," he looked up at her. "I cannot be physically strong for you in battle, I cannot carry you if you are sick or wounded, I cannot do tourneys and shows of power and bravery like the knights in the stories. I would have remained unmarried and visiting whorehouses if it were not for you, my lucky lady wife," he gripped her hands as hard as she held his. "But if I can shoulder some of your shame, if I can take the humiliation put upon you onto my head, if I can win a battle of words for you, that is the show of power I can give to prove that I want to be worthy of you."

"You are called such cruel names in the courts, you have your own share of embarrassment, why take up mine as well?" She asked. "I am a stupid, empty headed, pretty girl. My looks will keep me afloat in court, my beauty and my inheritance."

"But your pride and your person would be wounded, Sansa," he looked at her with fierce green eyes. "I want to hurt for you, because I do not care what they think of me as long as they think better of you."

Sansa bit her lip, closing her eyes as she took in Tyrion's words. He was right when he spoke of his affections for Shae. They were shadows and imitations of the bold love she had seen her parents demonstrate. He loved Shae because he wanted someone to love him; his giving was expecting a reception.

But Sansa had given him no reception; she had not loved him until she had turned her back on him, she had not realized she had more than just kind feelings for him. But he loved her all the same; he had admitted as much as they lay tangled in the sheets. He took her shame because he wanted her to be left alone; he did not expect her to be grateful.

Sansa felt a tear run down the length of her nose, making a plopping sound as it fell into the pillow. She should have been gracious with him and told him what she was doing before she did so. He deserved to know what she was up to, not as her Hand, but as her husband. She let out a shaky breath before tipping her face upwards, her eyes looking to his as she spoke.

"I am not going to leave you, Tyrion." She assured him. "I am not going to tell tales about you, I am not going to lie about my affections, I am not going to put myself in harm's way so that I will never return to you." Sansa reached out to place her hand on his scarred cheek. "And I will not allow you to leave me, Tyrion. I am a selfish woman. I want my son and my husband to stay with me forever, no king is going to take me from my family again."

Tyrion looked at his wife, his eyes glowing in the candlelight with tears. He let go of Sansa's hands, his right hand shaking as he reached out to gently touch her cheek with his knuckle. He did not stop at the small affection, but leaned forward toward her, wrapping his arms about her neck, placing kisses into her cheeks. She could feel that his face was wet with tears and she felt him shake under her own embrace. She cradled the back of his head in her hand, turning her face to place a kiss in the curve of his neck. The skin was hot with sweat and salty on her lips, but she kissed him despite.

He groaned, his hands slipping from her neck to encompass her clothed breasts. Sansa felt her breath hitch, but she pulled from him, her own eyes growing hot with tears. Tyrion leaned toward her and kissed her again, intimately, his tongue searching her mouth until she kissed him with as much ferocity. She could not go any further, and she trembled as she pulled from his kiss and shook her head, pushing him from her.

"I cannot," she muttered, turning her face from him.

"Sansa?" Tyrion asked.

"I am sorry, my lord, but I cannot lie with you this evening," she tensed in preparation for an explosion from him in anger.

"Is it your moon's blood?" He asked her gently. Sansa wanted to lie, but she did not have the heart to deceive him even further.

"No, my lord, I am just not in want of such affections," she admitted.

"I see," Tyrion shook his head, but the tone of his voice indicated that he did not see. She bit her lip as she reached for him again.

"I do not want you in that way because I am scared of another's touch," she tried to explain. "It has not to do with not wanting you." She wrapped her arms about Tyrion's neck, placing a kiss on his temple.

Tyrion tilted his face to meet her eyes, and she could see the sadness which reflected in them. She released her touch on him and grabbed for his hands. He limply let her take them; she knew he blamed himself for her not wanting him inside of her body. She wanted so deeply to tell him that it was because the few times the two had been together she could see nothing but cold dead grey-green eyes in her memory as she closed her eyes. She felt fright whenever he had taken her several weeks earlier, and she did not wish to feel that way with her little lord husband. But she knew he would internalize that as a product of his own actions, not the haunting memory of another.

Sansa crawled closer to him, practically sitting upon his lap, and wrapped his hands around her. "Hold me," she pleaded.

Tyrion looked up at her, his eyes still wet with shed and unshed tears, his mouth curved into a frown. "I cannot, Sansa, I am too small."

"Do the best you can," she wrapped her arms about his neck, her nose nuzzling into his cheek as she pressed her face against him.

The two slowly slipped to the ground, Sansa turning in Tyrion's arms to face the opposite way. She pressed her back against his torso, his head cradled on her shoulder. His arms wrapped underneath her arms and settled on her chest, his thumb gently teasing her breast, signaling he had not given up hope that she would be with him as she ought.

Sansa did not succumb to the attempted foreplay, closing her eyes as she pillowed her temple on her hand. Her top leg was placed behind her, her thigh crossing over Tyrion's calf. Their legs interlocked where they touched and she reached for the fingers which teased her nipples lightly to take them in her hand. Tyrion placed a kiss on the back of her shoulder, his breath hot and warm on the fabric of her dress, sinking in through the layers to touch her skin. The feeling caused her to shudder, and she pressed tightly against his chest.

"When you were away," she closed her eyes and felt his forehead pressed into the curve at the back of her neck. "Did you meet people who meant well and made poor decisions?"

"Too many of them," he answered, placing a kiss against the warm skin where his head was placed. "Jorah was one of them. The fool was sent by King Robert to spy on Daenarys, and he fell in love with the girl instead. It was hard to rectify his spying when she found out."

"He is in great trouble with the Queen, is he not?" Sansa asked. "But he still wants her."

"As I would want you, if you pushed me away." Tyrion vowed. "When I was away from you, I desired for you always. For your touch and your smile and your voice."

Sansa eased from his grasp so she could roll over to her other side, looking into her husband's eyes now. He smiled at her, his hand reaching up to thumb her cheek softly. An idea sparked in her brain, which she felt compelled to voice, if the two were to be honest with one another again."We should bring Ser Jorah with us. He will do little good here, and besides, his house is much further north. Perhaps we can talk sense into him, and he can return to his household."

"I do not think much sense can be convinced of Jorah, but he is a learned survivalist; if the winds of winter are blowing as strongly as are rumored, he may be of valuable use to us in our travels." He cracked a crooked smile as he looked across at her. She could tell that it was not one of true humor.

"Why do you smile so?"

"We argue over the issue of you leaving White Harbor on your own, and yet here we speak of it again." The thought made her grin as well.

"I suppose this truly means that we are through warring over the topic," she offered. He shook his head the best he could with his cheek flush against the pillow. She felt him take her hands in his, his small stunted fingers wrapping around her cold ones as best as he could, bringing the combined fist to his mouth and placing a kiss on the curve of her knuckles.

"If we are through warring, we would be wholly honest. And as I have not been honest with you, you have not been honest with me." His eyes widened as she looked down at him with a cocked eyebrow. "You said you did worse things when I was away from you," the thought which had flooded her mind for several weeks came to the front, her eyes floating gently to their joined hands. "That I should not be ashamed of my crimes, because yours are much worse."

"I do not think you want to hear such a story," he replied.

"You whored." It was a statement. A guess she had pitted in the corner of her stomach. He often jested of being the god of lust, but she knew that the jape was made in shadowed truths. Even now she knew he was dying to be tangled up in her limbs, his manhood deep inside of her.

"Sansa—" His wide eyes revealed the truth. She felt her heartbeat flicker for a second, her mouth closing as she looked at him.

"I thought you might have," she wanted to pull her fingers from his, but she knew that she needed his strength as well. Though he was filled with faults she could only wish to heal, she knew that he was just as much filled with assurance which she needed.

"I felt guilty as soon as I had finished, and the gods made sure that I paid for my faithlessness." He clutched her hands tighter. He was right, she did not want to know what he had done, but she was glad that she was given some amount of closure. All the filthy sheets were being aired between the two of them.

"You do not need to try to rectify your mistake," she insisted.

"It was once, Sansa. It was once, and it was when I was the most gutless, disgusting man I had ever known. And I was then captured by Jorah Mormont, who was visiting the same brothel, and was sold to the slaver. I counted every lash as penance for the wrong I did," she could see the panic in his eyes. She frowned, stirring to sit up.

"You should not consider cruelty on the behalf of another as your atonement for doing me wrong," she answered. "But we have made each other angry with our lack of trust."

"Let us consider mine much worse," Tyrion replied. She was glad that he agreed with her.

"Do not whore again, Tyrion," Sansa replied. She understood now how her mother must have felt when her father had come home with Jon. "I do not want to have you return to me with a bastard child. I want to be the only mother of your children."

What was she feeling gripping her heart as she looked down at him? She touched her hand to her chest, rubbing the skin lightly.

"Am I sensing a woman's jealousy?" Tyrion asked, his fingers wrapping around the sleeves of her velvet gown. Sansa rolled her eyes. "I am," he grinned.

"And you are not absolved. You are part of the reason I am angry," she reminded him.

"My wife is jealous over me," his gloating annoyed her.

"Your wife will also be sure that you will have to visit whores if you ever intend on sleeping with one again. If I hear of you setting foot into a brothel, my legs are closed to you." She realized how serious she was in her vow. She could not break her husband easily of his drinking, but perhaps she could mend him of his interest in sold women.

"I promise you, Sansa, the mistake was made once and instantly regretted. Your wrath is not the first warning I received regarding sleeping with another woman." He watched her stand, and she slowly made her way to the bed. He staggered to his feet and followed her.

Sansa took to lying on her side, taking Robb in her arms and laying him against her side, wrapping her arm alongside him. She kissed the top of his forehead gently. The boy moved his head in his sleep, his mouth opening slightly. Sansa smiled as she looked down at her beautiful boy. Robb brought his hand up to rub sleepily at his eye as he stirred once more.

Tyrion joined his small family, sitting crossed legged on the other side of Robb, his green eyes staring down in wonder. "I would never want to close you off to me, Sansa, my wife."

She looked over at him, but his eyes were still on Robb, his stunted fingers gently grabbing and stroking the boy's smaller arm. She knew that Tyrion was true in his word; he was remorseful for his unfaithful behavior, but she could not help but feel slightly betrayed by the action he had done when she was gone. Even if she never returned, he should have stayed true for the sake of her memory.

At least, that was the way she wanted it.

"How did you travel to where Daenarys was dwelling?" Sansa tried to redirect her mind as she watched Tyrion caress their offspring.

"A boat. Jaime freed me from the prison room I was kept in. And then I was placed in a crate and shipped like cargo off to Pentos," his mouth curved into a somber smile. "I suppose it was a blessing in that time that the gods made me small. The only time I will thank them for it."

"You will have to show me where Pentos is on the maps," Sansa interrupted his commentary. Tyrion's eyes looked up at her, and she could see herself reflected in their wetness.

"I will most certainly teach you, my lady wife," Tyrion agreed.

"And then what happened? After Pentos?" Sansa asked. Tyrion looked as if he meant to go on, but instead he looked down at the boy before him, whose eyes were beginning to open.

The child stretched out his arms, his face contorting into a frown as he wiggled his small body. Sansa placed a hand on his belly, leaning forward to place a kiss on the boy's small cheek. Robb looked over at her, a look of confusion on his small face.

"He has the same sleep drunk look as you do," Sansa spoke absentmindedly. She sat Robb up, the boy now able to sit all on his own. He blinked, his small hands returning to rub into his face as he let out a snuff.

"I suppose he does," Tyrion replied. Sansa swept her fingers through Robb's curling, brassy hair as the boy awakened.

"You must finish your story, my lord," Sansa replied.

"Had I mentioned to you that I met one of the dwarves who performed at Joffrey's ill-fated wedding on the journey?" Tyrion asked.

"You did not mention any such thing that I can remember, my lord," Sansa replied, gently rubbing Robb's back as he turned to the land of the wakeful.

"I went to Pentos, and stayed a spell in a rich man's house," Tyrion reached out to grab hold of one of Robb's hands, his thumb rubbing over the back of his skin. "And then I was sent southward with a crew."

"Never able to sit still for very long?" Sansa asked.

"The sins I committed were haunting me; I was in want to be near you, but I was also in want to forget everything. I thought maybe you would be better off if your lord husband never did return to you. I had one close encounter on the boat,"

"What do you mean?" Sansa asked. Tyrion reached forward to grab his son underneath the boy's armpits, lifting him and settling him in his lap, cradling the child as he placed a kiss on the boy's head.

"I had a slip into the Rhoyne river when we were seized by stone men. The entire crew thought I was going to become one of them. I spent many hours of my day pricking my fingers with a dagger to be sure that they were able to feel each tiny poke; that I would not turn into a statue."

Sansa grabbed for his hand, her thumb running over each of his fingers. She leaned forward and gently kissed each, a motherly gesture of healing. "I am glad that you did not arrive back to me as a stone husband."

"I narrowly escaped the hand of the gods with that misfortune," he agreed. "We continued on southward until we arrived in Selhorys, that was when Ser Jorah found me and took me captive."

"How did Ser Jorah capture you, my little lord husband, if you were so clever as to escape King's Landing without being caught, could you not have gotten away from him?"

"There are many parts of my story which will anger you, Sansa, and where we met was one of them," he looked at her. Sansa's inside froze.

"You were at the brothel," she knew he did not want to relive the earlier conversation, but he nodded his head, looking down at his son. "And then what, my lord?"

"Then Ser Jorah took me to Volantis, there we were looking for a ship to take us to Meereen, that was when Penny, one of the young dwarf's from Joffrey's wedding, intercepted us and tried to kill me with her fists," she watched his cheek twitch up into a smirk. "She had every right to want to; it was because of me that she was traveling alone."

"What do you mean?"

"It was because of me that her brother was killed. He was accused of being me, slaughtered and taken to Cersei where he was no doubted cast aside as a false version, and the traitors given no gold." Tyrion closed his eyes, Sansa reached forward to place a comforting hand on his knee. His eyes reopened abruptly, and he looked up at her from under his thick brow. His eyes went to her hand resting on his knee, but a smile crossed his face. "When we take back Winterfell, we must stop my sister."

"I wonder if word has spread to King's Landing that I am North? If so, it certainly has been told that you are at my side." Sansa's eyes widened as she gazed into his green eyes. "Surely there are more people in want of us for our heads than for our cause,"

"The Northern cause would never let harm come to their Queen," Tyrion reasoned. Sansa sighed.

"I suppose not," she replied. "But I still wonder."

"M'lord, m'lady," Podrick appeared in the doorway, his face a bright red as he stumbled upon the intimate moment.

"Yes, Pod?" Tyrion spoke for the two, his voice filled with annoyance.

"The servants are on their way with dinner for the evening,"

"Thank you, Pod, for telling us," Sansa replied.

"We will speak more of going to the Wall after we sup," Tyrion promised. Sansa nodded her head in agreement as the two stirred to dress and go out into the dining quarters for food.


	53. Allegiances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you readers for your support, especially if you take the time to comment! I appreciate the feedback so much, so if you have the time, shoot me something, even a few words! Happy Friday! - Lydia

Tyrion cursed as he climbed yet another set of stairs, the cold causing his already achy joints to throb. His attitude had already taken a turn for the worse when he caught several servants and ladies of lower houses watching him as he passed. Their names were added to a list of people to humiliate—a list he would never be able to see carried out in White Harbor. _Perhaps Arya's sheep shit idea would be most appropriate._

But now was not the time to formulate that plan; Tyrion had left the safe confines of the apartments granted to he and Sansa to venture across the castle to one of the furthest towers, where the serving staff stayed. Sansa had convinced Lord Wyman to give Ser Jorah Mormont a small room to himself, seeing as he was not a threat and certainly no proven criminal, and so the man had been provided with a small room. Tyrion wished at this moment that the man had been given a more luxurious living space so the small man would not have to walk so far.

He cut through the castles down the long hallways, doing his best to escape the cold breezes and wet snowfall which fell on the land. Sansa spent many days out in the cold, returning with pink cheeks and wet hair. She had begun to take Robb with her; the boy bundled in layers of fur and fabric. Tyrion had gone out with the two a couple times, before the cold deterred him from following. Robb had taken to the snow quickly, further proving that Northern blood heated the child's body, and it was not long before Sansa could sit him down in the snow and he would flick the flakes aside. He had begun to turn himself over to his belly and attempt to push his way across the ground, Tyrion and Sansa audibly expressing their awe at their child's growth. When Robb had finally taken to crawling across the rug in their bed chambers, Tyrion knew he could wait no longer. It was take over the North now, or watch his son grow up and inherit little.

He needed to speak with Jorah; Wyman was still not allowing Sansa to even think about leaving White Harbor with his permission, so if he would not grant them riding security, then Tyrion would convince men to join the cause on his own. He was used to wrangling men to his side when times were tough, and the added pressure of having his wife and son at risk only spurred him to speak a little more sweetly, mention gold payment just a bit more frequently.

He had won several banner men over to his side, and Sansa had assured him that Brienne would follow the two, but Tyrion did not want to leave without the man whom had brought him here. Getting Jorah out from under the watch of his guards would be hard, but Tyrion knew the stakes of leaving the man, and potential ally, behind. House Mormont was as great a Stark supporter as the men at White Harbor—except the Mormonts were hardier Northern men and would fight twice as hard for Sansa and Robb's cause, instead of waiting for the impossible return of a rumor.

Tyrion was thinking of what to say to convince the man over to his side as he walked down the halls in order to pass the time and remove his mind from the throbbing of his knees joints. Jorah would be either easy to convince, or a hard case to bring along; if he was a sully as when he arrived here, then bringing him along would not be hard. But if he thought there was any chance of winning his beloved Dany back to his arms—which Tyrion thought was as likely as if he went to a whorehouse on the way back and asked Sansa for forgiveness now—he might take a little more convincing. So wrapped up in his thoughts was Tyrion, that he did not see Ser Harry make his way down the hall, directly into his path.

Tyrion balked, taking a step backwards to regain his balance when he finally realized that someone was standing before him, which would cause him to either stop or run into the tall legs. Tyrion chose the first option. He then looked up to see Harry looking down at him, nearly two feet taller than the small man.

"What the hell do you want?" Tyrion asked. "It's a bit cold to compare cocks out here."

"No, I am not here to cause conflict with you, nor do I have much interest in seeing your dwarf cock," Harry replied. Tyrion's eyebrows rose as he crossed his hands over his chest. He grabbed hold of the fur draped over his shoulder with his right hand to pull it tighter against his chest, shivering as he stood unmoving before the knight, the cold catching up to him.

"Well, if it is not conflict you are in want of, then what brings you to stand before me?" Tyrion could see his breath dancing in the still air of the halls.

"I want to help you,"

"Help?" Tyrion's laugh was more of a cough as he shook his head. "Help _me_? That would have been more appreciated if you had helped me several weeks before, instead of inciting further suspicion regarding my character."

"I know your character now, Lord Tyrion," Harry responded. "And while I think the rumors regarding your lechery and indecency are true, and more often proven by your own speech, I cannot help but accept that your lady wife is Lady Sansa Stark,"

Tyrion narrowed his green eyes as he looked up at the boy. "You are going to help me in order to help Lady Sansa?"

"I know it does not make much sense, but after she and I—our _incident_ the other day in the gardens—"

"Incident?" Tyrion felt his heart rise as bile filled his throat. _Sansa is not the only one capable of jealousy in our relationship._ Ser Harry continued to talk, despite Tyrion's outburst.

"I realized she is not going to leave your side. However, I can see it in her face that she misses her family home. She wants Winterfell back, as badly as Lord Manderly does for the Starks. We cannot wait around here until Lord Rickon is brought back to us; there is a time to strike and it is now, while the Boltons are being weakened by the surrounding Northern Houses, before we allow time to escape us and Ramsay or Roose find a way to supply the castle and their men."

Tyrion's right hand went to his chin. He scratched at the beard he was growing back for warmth's sake. "How do you propose we help Sansa?"

"By following your plan," Tyrion could see the man's cheeks turn pink as his blue eyes left the gaze of Tyrion's green stare. "Whether I like you or not, Imp, I must confess that going to Lord Stannis, who has a formidable army, would work. Lord Wyman can wait here for Rickon for as long as he likes, but Lord Stannis will not wait forever. Perhaps if he has the inside knowledge of the girl who lived at Winterfell all her life, maybe he can find a way to penetrate the Bolton's defenses."

The small man's eyebrows crossed as he looked at the knight; he was not sure whether he could trust the lad before him, or if the boy had crueler intentions meant for Tyrion. But the dwarf doubted the boy had that much intelligence, to be rid of him when he could. Sansa would never marry the man even if Harry managed to kill off Tyrion. If she had not fallen to his woos in Tyrion's absence, the husband highly doubted his wife would fall even after his death.

"I would help you escape," Harry said.

"What?" Tyrion's eyes widened. The more Harry spoke, the less Tyrion knew the motive and the coming words of the knight.

"I could help you run from the castle; surely you know that Lord Wyman has men constantly monitoring you, to be sure that you are not going to bolt off in the middle of the night and compromise his plan."

"I've heard others have been watching our apartments as well," Tyrion replied. Sansa had told him that she had discovered Ser Harry had spies watching their apartments. The incident must have been how she had come to know of this.

"Lord Wyman thinks I am on his side," Harry did not react to Tyrion's backhand comment. "If I said I would watch you for the evening, he would think nothing of my loyalty. He would trust me to keep my word."

Tyrion looked about the hall, searching for any man or woman who seemed to be lingering.

"And what if his spies hear you now? And you would risk going against House Manderly? The boy who shivers when Lord Wyman barks."

"I would do anything for Lady Sansa. And, as for the spies you are foolishly searching for, I am the spy for the afternoon, his ears and eyes." Harry replied. "I wanted to speak with you today, before it becomes too snowy and we cannot travel very fast or for very long. With the child, he would not be able to fair in the cold weather out in the open if we leave much later."

"So you would promise to watch us whichever night of our choosing and then would spirit us out of the castle?" Tyrion's head was spinning with confusion regarding the knight's change of allegiance.

"I know you have a small team of men at arms who wish to join you, and Lady Brienne." Harry answered. "I spoke with Ser Jorah about joining you. There is little reason for him to remain in White Harbor."

"That was where I was off to," Tyrion replied, looking past the man to the tower in the distance. "And did you force Mormont to come with us, or did you offer him?"

"A little of both; when the man you are speaking with is a prisoner, it makes it so much easier to convince him to do as you wish." Harry smiled. Tyrion could see the cockiness behind the grin; he was proud of himself for being able to hold Jorah's proverbial chains about his head and twist them until the man succumbed and agreed. The dwarf frowned; he did not think that forcing Jorah to their side was effective, but Jorah would be needed, and at least he was guaranteed to be coming along.

"And you would wish to leave in the middle of the night?" Tyrion asked.

"I think early morning would be best. Everyone could leave their rooms in anticipation for the breaking of fast in the Great Hall, and would go to the stables instead. Your young lad, Podrick?, would be able to saddle up the horses, if he left early enough, and we could be on our way."

"That would make Lord Wyman very suspicious; or at least his spies. Sansa and I never go to the Great Hall for our breaking of fast." Tyrion shook his head.

"Well, you must act as if you are."

"And what of the things we are to bring?"

"We cannot bring much," Ser Harry said. "We can bring only what is necessary; perhaps a change of clothes, and some food from the kitchens that I will go and gather myself. We can stop at the inns on the way North, as long as we stay far from Winterfell in our journey, then we will be safe."

"I do not like taking that risk," Tyrion sneered.

"I know you are concerned with Lady Sansa's safety," Harry pressed a hand to his chest. "But I even more so. I want to see her upon that throne, awaiting her brother. And I want to be at that battle which gives her back her House lands."

"You will never be her hero," Tyrion said.

"And you think you will be hers?" Harry laughed. "I am sure she will allow you to plan the battle routes and tactics like her good little Hand and husband, but I have much doubt that you will be among the ranks. In the vanguard much less. If Lord Stannis even keeps you alive."

"We should be most concerned with escaping Lord Wyman first." Tyrion replied, trying to bite his tongue against the knight's cockiness. _This is for Sansa._ He tried to remind himself. At least he and Harry were united on that front, much to Tyrion's annoyance. "Is there a day you foresee us having the most success fleeing from the castle?"

"Tomorrow morning," Harry bent down to whisper softly. "Lord Wyman may find me suspicious, if I keep speaking with you, and I cannot guarantee that our secret will stay safe for long."

"Tomorrow morning?" Tyrion shook his head. "You expect me to have Sansa and Robb prepare in a so many little hours to be ready to leave?"

"I do, Lord Tyrion, if you actually wish to win this woman's homeland back." The challenge in Ser Harry's voice was unmistakable. The man did not think the dwarf a good caretaker for his lady love, and Tyrion knew that Harry wished he would serve in the war, increase the chances of leaving this earth and a distraught Sansa.

"What a horseshit question, of course I wish to give Sansa anything she desires; most desperately I want to give her Winterfell." Tyrion's jaw tightened. "We will be ready to leave in the morning. I am assuming you will want to speak with Podrick about which horses we should take for the ride?"

"Naturally," Harry rose to his full height, crossing his arms before his chest.

"Then we shall see you when the first foods for the breaking of fast are brought to the halls and we instead go to the stables." Tyrion retorted.

"You are a man of pluck, I will give you the credit, Lord Tyrion. Lady Sansa was at least given a husband who would have the stubbornness to do her right, even if he never could deserve her." Harry cocked his head as he looked down, his blue eyes washing over Tyrion.

"How much pain is your mouth in, to issue the Imp such compliments?" Tyrion laughed.

"I suppose we must become allies at one point or another; seeing as I am the true inheritor of the Eyrie. I will bring the Vale to your support, whether Lord Wyman wishes me to or not. I will become a great lord, and I must start by making my own decisions now." Harry's pride was swelling in his chest.

"I have no doubt of that, my lord. You should marry Lady Randa; you would do to have a good lady such as her." Tyrion replied.

Harry was clearly surprised by the compliment. "I…uh…my grandmother did not wish to see me marry the large mouthed woman."

"It's a shame she cannot join us on our journey; she will be needed here to soothe the raging of Lord Wyman. But perhaps when we are all together in Winterfell, you two may meet again and your can decide yourself, Ser Harry, Lord of the Vale." Tyrion teased the man. "Then you shall get your mind off of my wife."

"I promise you that my mind is very far from the wishes and endearments of Lady Sansa," Ser Harry placed his hands on his hips.

"I can tell you what you say is nothing but horseshit," Tyrion replied. "What was it that occurred in the gardens again?"

"I should apologize to you for Lady Sansa's sake," Harry reddened. "I have no doubt that she told you in her rage what I had done."

"Please remind me; I am trying to forget the wrongs done to my wife." Tyrion lied.

Sansa had not spoken of what had occurred in the garden after their fight. Podrick had confessed to seeing her there, when Tyrion interrogated him the next day, and had revealed another company had been in Sansa's presence when the boy found his commanding lady. But the boy would say nothing more. _"I have lost my squire's loyalty to my wife, as well. What shall become of me if I ever do become Lord of Casterly Rock, all my servants turning against me?"_ Tyrion had remarked with a smile, sending Podrick into a stammer about how he still held fealty to Tyrion, and his lordship should not worry about whom he was devoted to. Tyrion had to command the boy to sit and drink a glass of wine before he settled down and realized Tyrion's comment was more a jest than truth.

"I kissed your wife, if you so wish to be reminded," Harry's response was indignant; he truly thought Tyrion had forgotten for the sake of forgiving.

 _This boy is certainly not the smartest of men I have encountered, that is for certain._ The thought passed through Tyrion's head before his blood began to boil. This man had _kissed_ his wife? And she had not told him? After the two were to be honest with one another, she withheld a rather important truth? Tyrion felt his cheeks reddening, his pulse quickening, and his fists were balling at his side.

"I am sure Lady Sansa assured you that she pushed me away, falling off the bench as she did so." Harry held up his hands. "She commanded me never to kiss her again. Rightfully angry she was. You have a devoted wife, Imp, and she made sure to remind me of that."

Tyrion's angered lessened, finding that he could not blame Sansa. "Yes, yes she did tell me, and she pleaded that I not send Podrick after your roots and stem for your actions," Tyrion took a step forward, causing the taller man to take a step back. The dwarf held a pointed finger out before him, his eyes narrowing. "If you force yourself on my wife in such a way again, Podrick will flay your cock from your body, slowly and painfully, just as the Boltons do to their enemies. And I will oversee, smiling as I watch."

"Yes, Lord Tyrion," the knight's voice trembled. Tyrion could not help but smile at the terror. "I promise no such thing will happen again."

"That is a comfort to know, since I am placing the trust of my wife and child into your hands." Tyrion replied. "I will see you in the morning, then, Ser Harry?"

"Y-y-yes," Harry nodded his head. "Send Podrick to the stables an hour beforehand. I will be on watch outside your apartments in the corner of the hall, in the shadows, and will tell him what to tell the stablemen so they leave him be."

"Good," Tyrion nodded.

"I guess this is good day, Lord Tyrion?"

"It is, and it's a very good day for your puny cock and balls, they'll be staying attached one more night," Tyrion replied. "It has been so cold lately, and the feeling of woman is bliss when the air is chilly. Your cock all warm and nestled inside of her; I am sure you would not want to miss the experience because you were unable." Tyrion turned away from the man, making his way back through the halls. "Of course, your own reputation exceeds you, Ser Harry. I am sure you would have plenty of servant girls in your bed, wishing to judge for themselves the rumors of your…gallantry. Ladies, however—"Tyrion smiled as he paused, turning to look at the man. "You best hope that whomever your grandmother has you marry, that she is as forgiving as Sansa. She will, however, never be as beautiful."

Tyrion did not wait to see the knight's reaction. Sansa would be ashamed of the pissing contest between the two, but Tyrion could not help but demean men who thought themselves better than he because of their stature. He had Sansa, after all. And he was going to be sure that he would keep her; even if he had to thank Ser Harry at the end of the war for his help. Sansa was worth his dignity and pride; in fact, she was replacing all of that in him. And their son, their son was his pride incarnate.

Lannister protected Lannisters; blood was to be preserved and kept. And Tyrion was finding that the motivation was heightened when actual love flowed within the familial connection.


	54. Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, guys! I got a new full time temp job, and ended up getting a head cold, which prolonged the whole writing of this. But here is the new chapter! Thanks for sticking with me! And leave a review if you can :)

Sansa stirred in her sleep, rising to a light wakefulness as the sound of hurrying footsteps could be heard faintly through the windows of the apartments. She cracked an eye open slightly, the darkness of the room making it near impossible to see, but her maternal instincts would not let her sink back to sleep readily. She sighed as she dreaded the prospect of slipping out from underneath the warm covers which shielded her and Tyrion from the cold.

She had fallen asleep nestled against him, her head tucked against his arm, her arm stretched out across his torso. He was still sound asleep, a light snore escaping his parted mouth. She envied that he remained unbothered by the noises, but was glad that he was getting his sleep. Even by her side, his nightmares, which he would never admit to, kept him awake at night, tossing and turning. Sometimes she awoke and had found him curled up in a chair in the solar, his eyes darting over the words of some tale he had read a thousand times. She felt at ease the nights he slept well by her side.

Sansa was trying to will her limbs to move when the sound of rapping on their door startled her. She sat up, the covers sliding from her shoulder. Tyrion also jerked to wakefulness, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“M’lord,” A voice called from the other side of the wood. It was Podrick. Sansa looked over at Tyrion who she could faintly see in the dimness. “May I come in?”

“Seeing as you have awoken myself and Lady Sansa, you might as well come in and tell us what all the fuss is about.” Tyrion groaned.

The door whined on its hinges as Podrick entered, a lantern held in hand ghoulishly illuminated his handsome face. “My lord, we must go,”

“We made arrangements to leave in the morning with Ser Harry. You cannot tell me that it is indeed morning,” Tyrion’s voice was rough from unuse, annoyance lining the phlegmy words. Sansa looked over to her husband, and saw that his eyebrows were set and he looked ready to turn over into the mattress to return to his dreams.

“No, m’lord,” Podrick shook his head. Sansa pushed the covers away from her body, then brushed her hair back behind her.

“What is the matter, Podrick?” She questioned.

“Are they hurrying, boy?” Ser Harry’s voice could be heard in the next room.

“N..n..not yet,” the squire stammered.

Harry’s boyish face appeared beside Podrick’s, a stern grimace on his plump lips. “You had best get up, my lord and my lady,”

“What the hell is going on?” Tyrion groaned.

“It seems that someone has caught wind of our plan of escape,” Harry stepped into the room. “And betrayed us to Lord Wyman. He does not wish to see Sansa leave White Harbor, especially with the encroaching storm. He is not aware that I was the one to agree to escort you out of the city, so he sent me with the news to arrest Lord Tyrion.”

“Arrest?” Sansa’s eyes widened. She forced herself to swallow, to take a deep breath as she shook her head. “I do not understand? What has he done if he has not yet left the city with me?”

“He is going to be tried for having knowledge and command in the execution of the Frey-Tully wedding, he will be tried for killing the king, he will be tried for killing his father.” Harry set his jaw.

“So he will be back behind bars for the all the crimes I, Queen of the North, have pardoned him from?” Sansa rose from the covers, the cold no longer bothering her as the anger below her skin boiled her blood.

“You were once Lady Stark of Winterfell to Lord Wyman,” Harry said. “Surely your husband has explained that you will not inherit Winterfell if Rickon Stark is alive.”

“I know such rules of inheritance,” Sansa shook her head. “But we have no proof that my brother is alive. This is madness. My husband is to be arrested so that Lord Wyman can hold me here as his prisoner now? I was once welcomed because I was to become Queen of the North, and now the whispers of my thought slaughtered brother brings him to life and my cause is thrown to the wind? And I cannot seek another’s aide to help me get my home back?” She turned to see Tyrion had jumped from the bed and was quickly dressing with assistance from Podrick.

“I understand your frustration, Sansa,” Harry replied. His face darkened as he looked away from her, his jaw setting even harder.

“What else are you not telling me?” Sansa asked.

“It will not matter if we are on our way. I see your lord husband is cooperating by dressing with his squire, you should be girding yourself likewise, my lady.” Harry turned away.

“You will tell Sansa what information you are holding back, or Podrick will be sent from his assistance and commanded to hit you with the broadside of a sword,” Tyrion replied. Harry turned back to Sansa.

“He is arranging for a wetnurse to take Robb for a time; he thinks if perhaps you had some time to yourself, to reflect on what it is like to lose something, it will spur your devotion to praying for your brother to arrive safely.”

“He is going to take Robb?” Sansa looked to Tyrion, her cheeks flushing as she darted toward the door to the nursery. Her heart was pounding in her chest with fright, her breaths sharp and hard to catch as she turned the handle and prayed the boy was there.

She stumbled into the room as her force flew the door open, and found Robb was sleeping peacefully in his wooden cradle. She took him up in her arms, placing him against her chest. Robb’s eyes flew open and he let out a small whine, but when he was reassured it was his mother who held him, he quieted immediately.

“Sansa,” Tyrion called her from the doorway. She turned, her baby held tightly in crossed arms, and rejoined the men in the next room.

“We need to go, my lady,” Harry replied.

“Surely Lord Wyman will know that something is amiss when he waits much longer and finds no satisfaction with your return,” Tyrion said.

“You speak true,” the knight sighed. “There are more like than not guards about the place with the knowledge that you are to be taken in.”

“We need to split up, rendezvous near the stables, perhaps even outside of them.” Tyrion looked up at Sansa.

“What do you mean?” She looked down at him.

“I mean, you go with Ser Harry. If you are found by the guards, there is nothing they will truly do besides escort you back to the room. I am sure Ser Harry could pose as if he had caught you sneaking away and was taking you back to your quarters. If they find me, if they find Robb, they will execute their orders.”

“What do you mean, if they find Robb?” Sansa looked down at the sleeping face of her boy.

“Sansa, I am your half man of a husband. I can sneak more readily in the shadows, in the small places. I have done so already. Give me Robb, I will carry him to safety. We are tiny and can tuck away when danger approaches.”

“I…” Sansa shook her head. “But what if you are caught?”

“I’ll come up with something clever, but put trust in the fact that I have already evaded nearly all dangers.”

“Nearly?” Harry shook his head. “That is not a good record to boast of,”

“I do not have the downfall of women anymore, I am sure that without the distraction I will fair better off.”

“You must get dressed, m’lady,” Podrick said, his cheeks flushing in the light. He was trying to stop the argument between the two. “The night is very cold and you will not be warm enough in your bed clothes.”

“He is right, Sansa,” Tyrion replied. “Give Robb to me, I will dress him warmly in furs.”

Sansa’s arms shook as she looked at the small face of her only child and then to the determined face of his father. She did not want to give her boy over, have him out of her sight for so long with such danger. She wanted to tuck him close against her, to keep him safe. But she knew that Tyrion was right. If she was caught with Robb, she would not leave him in White Harbor with a wet nurse to run after her husband.

She held the boy out to him, tremors causing the boy to rock as she offered him down. Tyrion caught hold of her wrist, pulling her down to her knees before him, Robb offered on her outstretched arms.

“Sansa,” he murmured, taking Robb in his arms, stepping close to her. He placed a hand on her cheek. “I will care for my son, and I will be reunited with you in an hour’s time. You were brave once when you ran from King’s Landing, now show your son his mother is a direwolf in lion’s clothing.” His thumb rubbed at her tears gently. Sansa nodded her head.

He stepped even closer to her, his stocking clad toes touching her knee caps, and leaned forward to place a kiss on her mouth. She kissed him back, limply at first, but as his lips warmed her mouth she kissed with more fervency.

“Go, Sansa,” Tyrion whispered, pressing his forehead to hers. “And pray to your gods the whole way, that they may deliver us again.”

Sansa nodded her head. Tyrion stepped away with Robb in his arms, turning to Harry and Podrick. “Podrick, go and ready Ser Jorah and Lady Brienne, while I speak with Ser Harry about the meeting place and exit routes we are to take,” her husband took command. Podrick bowed and turned to obey what he was commanded. “Ser Harry, you shall tell Podrick where he is to go, and then you shall escort my wife to the decided meeting place. Care for her well.” Tyrion eyed the man. He turned to Sansa once more. “Go, Sansa, and dress yourself for a cold journey.”

Sansa felt her limbs freeze as she watched her husband and the knight slip off into the nursery to speak of plans and ready her son.

 

* * *

 

The air was chilly and Sansa could see her heavy breaths dance in the moonlight. The crescent moon gave each of the groups enough light to see before them without completely giving away their movements and positions. Sansa thanked the old gods for that blessing.

She followed behind Harry as the two snuck down the stairs of her apartments, Harry looking in control as they passed a couple sleepy guards. The two agreed that if questioned, it would not seem strange for her to demand a counsel and explanation from Lord Wyman, so the two could easily move along the perimeters.

The stables and horses were also their jobs. Brienne and Jorah were with Podrick, the three much closer to the horses than Sansa and Harry, readying the horses for the journey. Sansa prayed that their fingers were fast and their movements muffled. She also prayed that they were not given any difficult horses. Any minor detail missed could throw off their whole plan.

Harry pressed against the building as they made it to the inner courtyard, his head turning to glance back to be sure that she was following him. She pulled her dark cloak about her body, shivering against the fear which she masqueraded as a chill. She had dressed richly in a thick winter grey dress, a black underskirt giving her extra warmth. She had taken a dark cloak as well, to hide her lighter hair in the darkness. She had learned once how to dress so as not to be seen when moving in the night, she was not sure whether to be thankful for the information or cursing that she was needing to use it once more.

“It is not that much farther, Sansa,” Harry whispered. “We just need to make it past the courtyard and through one of the halls,”

Something which she was sure would take an eternity. There was no chaos like the death of a king to distract the men about them this time; there was nothing but drowsiness and the cold.

Sansa bit her lip as she tried to push away the thoughts of her son. Was he warm enough? Was Tyrion being sure to shield as much of the boy’s face as he could in the bitter cold? Were they able to sneak along the walls and out of the whistling wind? Were they close to sneaking out the servant’s exit toward the side of the building?

“Sansa!” Harry whispered. Sansa looked up and realized she had slowed and strayed from Harry. “Keep your thoughts here. Your husband is clever enough not to be caught, you must hold onto the belief now.”

Sansa nodded her head as she shivered again.

The two crept along the shadows with little trouble; a guard had stopped them in their journey across the inner courtyard, and Harry had repeated their formulated story. Sansa had done her best to look stern and in control as she crossed her arms before her, her head held high as the guard looked over at her. He had eyed them warily before accepting their story and letting them go forward. He had watched as they slipped out of the courtyard and into the hall. When the guard was out of eyesight, Sansa had let out an audible sigh. But the encounter set her on edge during the long stretch of distance between the outer courtyard and stables.

The smell of manure and the sleepy whicker of horses could be heard as the two neared the stable. Harry moved deftly through the small sparring courtyard which led to the stables, instructing her to hide in the shadows while he moved ahead to be sure the field was clear. While the excuse that she wished to  see Lord Wyman would hold in the inner courtyard which led from the private apartments to the more public venues, such as the Great Hall, the story would not hold up in the stable yard.

He waved his hand toward his hip, motioning her to move quickly. Sansa ducked her head, pulling the cloak about her cheek as she swiftly moved across the worn dirt. She held her breath as she walked, the thought of breathing and alerting anyone to her presence scaring her. She gasped for breath as she entered the stables.

The first thing Sansa noticed, after a line of five horses saddled, was that several guards lay on the floor in sleeping positions. Her gaze must have lingered long enough for Podrick to take note and to comment.

“We found them in here and could not risk them being alert and knowledgeable about more of the escape.”

“I suppose knocking them cold is better than the alternative of death,” she noted. Harry stepped up to a sturdy black horse who ducked his head when the knight took hold of the reins.

“Come, my lady, this is your horse. Mount now so we may be on our way,” he commanded.

Sansa went to the side of the horse, impressed with the animal’s size. She had ridden plenty of ponies, but never a horse this big. Ser Harry knelt beside the stirrup and presented her with folded hands. Sansa grabbed hold of the saddle as she placed her right foot in his hands, and swung her leg over the top of the horse when he lifted her up. She took hold of the reins looped about the animal’s neck when she had her feet firmly tucked into the stirrups.

She watched Harry mount the horse beside her; Brienne, Podrick, and Jorah all sitting atop their mounts.

“Where is the sixth horse?” Sansa panicked as she saw all horses had riders.

“We thought it may be best if your lord husband rode with you,” Brienne said.

Of course; White Harbor does not have a dwarf lord, they would not have the saddles needed for him to properly reach the stirrups.  Sansa flushed in shame as she realized the idea had never crossed her mind.

Harry clicked his mount forward and the horse began its walk toward the side saddle door. This part of the plan would need to be done quickly; once the horses were spotted, they would need to make a run for it if they planned to escape capture by the closing gates.

Sansa held tightly to her horse’s reins, trying to calm her rapid breaths as she again pushed an image of Tyrion captured with Robb in his hands. She knew that he was right, that he would be better off sneaking the baby, but she was worried all the same. Brienne’s sharp whisper of Sansa’s name drew the girl from her frightful imaginings as the distance between her horse and the others gathered.

“My lady, we must move quickly if we want to avoid detection,” Brienne reminder sent Sansa’s heels into her horse.

The squeeze was a bit too hard and the horse jolted forward, breaking into a stone thundering canter through the yard. Sansa felt her eyes widen at the noise her mount was making. The sound of the horse’s hooves upon the ground was soon joined by an orchestra of more hoof strikes, the other riders joining their hasty companion in a race toward the gates.

The men atop the walls were alerted, but the horses were moving too quickly, and the watchers were caught off guard, preventing any true barrier to be placed before the escapees in the quick shock and movement. Sansa was grateful that she was of valuable status—even if Lord Wyman wanted her to stay behind, he would not risk harming the only true Stark heir he had in his custody. She would be spared the dodging of arrows.

The horses galloped across the wooden drawbridge, urged into their swiftest gates when they reached the solid ground outside the moat. Ser Jorah’s horse was the fastest as his mottled gelding nosed past Sansa’s ride. Ser Harry, perhaps the best rider of the four, was not far behind as he expertly coaxed his horse to give him its all. Brienne stayed behind with Sansa’s horse, the two animals making good time across the moonlit road. The castle sank into the foggy night sky in the background.

The gnarled tree was not too far from the castle; far enough to be able to hide before any knights could catch up to them, but close enough that Tyrion could reach them in good time from his escape route leading out the northeast side of the castle.

Sansa was panting near as hard as her horse when she drew the animal up. Ser Jorah and Ser Harry were off their mounts and leading the breathless horses about in circles, calming the animals as quickly as possible. Sansa slid from her mount, Brienne taking her horse to do the same for both women’s animals.

Sansa took to settling onto the rooted ground beneath the tree. The ground was damp with fallen snow and she shivered in the frigid air. Her breath danced in circles as she exhaled, a soft dance in the rays of the moon.

“He should be here soon,” Podrick rode up to the group. He had fallen behind to take another path in hopes of confusing the trackers. They may assume she had split off from the group and would debate on which trail to follow.

“I wish we were able to keep him at our side,” Sansa’s lip quivered in fear and sadness as she watched him dismount the horse, anchoring the reins to an outstretched branch. “He might have been captured and we would not know it.”

“If he does not arrive by morning,” Podrick knelt down beside her. “I will go back to the castle and search myself.”

Sansa turned to look at the boy, reaching out to rest her hand on his arm. “You are so loyal, Podrick. Thank you.”

“It is an honor, m’lady,” he nodded his head.

He seated himself next to her, drawing his arms tightly around his body. Ser Jorah and Ser Harry soon sat on either side as Brienne sat facing Sansa, blocking some of the wind from the lady.

The wait was long and Sansa felt her heart sink with every passing hour. She buried her head in her arms, her eyes not wanting to see the moon trade places with the sun, willing the night to be longer.

When she tilted her head up and saw the first glances of morning light, he was still not there.

And Brienne held her hand over Sansa’s mouth as the girl let out a wail of despair.


	55. Elusion

Tyrion pressed against the walls alongside the staircase as he held Robb tight to his body. The boy was heavier than the father remembered as he balanced the boy's rear on one arm, the baby's torso leaning against his chest and shoulder. Thankfully his son stayed quiet, his small face peeking out from the hood of fur Sansa was sure to tuck tightly over his copper curls.

Tyrion had set out ahead of Sansa and Harry, knowing his journey would be much more precarious than his wife's. She could demand answers from those who tried to stop her, while Tyrion would only be allowed to question as his son was taken from him and he was led to the dungeons once more. The thought only spurred his feet to move more quickly down the stairs, pausing and pressing against the stone walls when the sound of footsteps neared. Twice in his descent did he press into the shadows and evaded the gaze of guards passing through the apartments on each landing. Tyrion held his breath when the men were near, afraid that even his breathing might alert them to his whereabouts.

Slipping down the final stair, Tyrion pressed himself against the wall, switching his son to his other arm. He shook out the arm which had been holding Robb as he slid down the wall, his eyes darting all about him as he watched for any signs of guards.

He nearly pissed himself when he turned the corner and heard a rustling sound-only to discover that it was little more than some feral cats chasing one another about the walls. Tyrion sighed heavily, finding his arms shaking as the fear left his heart. _I must not be so jumpy,_ he scolded himself. _I will only give myself away if I am so paranoid._

Robb seemed to catch onto his stress and began to whimper slightly as Tyrion carefully made his way around the inner courtyard to reach the servant's quarters. This plot would be the most dangerous in terms of being caught by the guards, but no doubt the servant's quarters would increase his chances of being seen or heard by anyone in such tight spaces.

When he was just outside the outer door Tyrion settled behind a barrel in the shadows to sink to his rear, balancing Robb on his lap. He sat the boy up, pulling at his furs, adjusting the small coat that had begun to open, repositioning the cloak atop the boy's head. Robb's frustration only grew and he let out a cough.

"No, no, shhh." Tyrion pulled the boy in close against him, placing a kiss on the small soft forehead and rocking back and forth. "You mustn't cry, my wolf cub," he rubbed the boy's back roughly. "You will not see your mother for too long if you make noises,"

Robb let out another cough, and Tyrion pressed the boy's face into his own dark cloak. Sansa had wrapped the dark fabric around Tyrion's shoulders before leaving. Podrick had dressed the small man in black breeches and covered his light under tunic with a warm, black velvet jerkin. Sansa worried that the light sleeves would show in the moonlight, but he knew that she was concerned for his own warmth as well. She had called for Podrick to go and fetch a warm dark cloak, and placed the garment about him with another firm kiss to his mouth. A wish of luck she would never want to voice in the chance of jinxing the blessing.

Robb let out a couple more snorts before settling. Tyrion placed another kiss on the back of the boy's head. "That is good, my son,"

"Halt!" A deep voice called out and Tyrion felt his limbs go rigid around the baby. He sat frozen where he was, tucked behind the barrel, in the chance that perhaps if he did not move the owner of the command would think that the dwarf was only a figment of imagination.

"Ser Wytan," It was Harry's voice which broke the tension.

"Ser Harry," the commander answered back. "Where are you off to with Lady Sansa? I have strict orders to bring her husband and child into Lord Wyman's custody."

"That is exactly what her ladyship wishes to protest," Harry insisted.

"I wish to know why my commands as Queen of the North are being ignored and overthrown. My husband has been pardoned for his crimes. And as for my son, what wrong has he possibly done?"

"I am only executing the commands I have been given by my lord." Ser Wytan insisted.

"And ignoring the commands of the Queen of the North?" Sansa retorted. Tyrion could hear the slight shakiness in her voice, but he would need to commend her later on when they reunited for her strength. The soldier would not read her nervousness.

"Lord Wyman is my commanding officer, and I do as he says, Lady _Lannister,_ " the knight responded.

"And I am doing as Lady Lannister has commanded me," Harry interrupted. Tyrion grew warm as the anger at the insult dealt his wife burned hot. "I am escorting her to the Great Hall. Now go and be on your way, do as your lord commands you and I will do as my lady commands me."

Footsteps filled the courtyard as Sansa and Harry hurried toward the side of the courtyard Tyrion was situated on, their adversary's foot falls headed toward the apartments on the opposite end of the plot of land.

Tyrion sat still for several moments, assuring himself that there was indeed no one else coming into the courtyard in search of any member of his family. He settled Robb on his lap, once more worrying over the clothes, wary that the boy was bundled tightly. He looked on the verge of crying again, no doubt having heard the sound of his mother's voice and not seeing her. Tyrion was glad for the bond he had made with his son before their escape, as the boy soothed when his father's face was present.

"We have a way's to go, Robb, and your mother will certainly outpace the both of us on the horses," Tyrion sighed, balancing his son on his arm once again.

He turned over onto his knees, rising up into a crouching position as he crept slowly around the barrels, scanning the courtyard carefully. He had never been more careful in his life, and he was dying for a glass of wine. Who knew when that comfort was to be had next?

 _Think less about wine, and more about getting your son out safely_. He scolded himself, shaking his head to clear away the thought. After one more glance out to the plot before him, he snuck around the corner and inched toward the door.

His hand turned the knob slowly, wincing when the door opened with a squeak. It was too early in the morning for the servants to be rising to wake their lord and ladies and knights, but the comforting warm smell of baking bread filled his nostrils and Tyrion realized the kitchens were already roused to begin to prepare for the breaking of fast.

Deftly creeping inside the servant's hall, Tyrion turned to close the door slowly behind him. When the wind was blocked by the heavy wood, he let out a sigh, dropping the hood of his cloak as the warmth of the ovens heated the small entryway. He turned his attention to Robb next, loosening the boy's furs and dropping his hood as well. Robb was a pleasant child, one Tyrion was thankful for, but even he would cause a fuss if he was uncomfortable.

When Tyrion was certainly Robb was de-vested enough to keep quiet, he tip toed down the hallway, listening intently for the sound of servants coming their way. While his size was an advantage to hiding, it would do little good if he were caught. He was not youthful enough to pass as a child, especially with the regrowth of beard and the scar which passed his face. He was a small man, and he there was only one small man in White Harbor. Whether the servants would know he was wanted was something he was not as concerned with; but they would remember that he passed through this way if questioned by a knight.

The first open door was several steps before Tyrion. The man stopped to turn his son toward his body, and held his breath as he crept toward the door. Leaning forward, Tyrion peered into the room to check for servants, but was relieved to find that the room was empty. The next couple rooms proved the same, and Tyrion found he was letting his guard down. He perched Robb on one arm, the other aiding in supporting the boy's weight. Tyrion could not believe his luck as he walked more freely down the hall.

The hall became warmer the closer Tyrion came to the kitchens. He knew that he would need to creep through the room to reach the servant's exit to the outer doors; the door which accepted outside deliveries of fish and grains from outlying vendors would provide his escape to freedom and Sansa. He was sure that his lady wife was dying with concern for her only child, and he found that he wanted to move more quickly. _The kitchens will prove to be the most dangerous part of the journey, what with the servants awake and baking bread._ He tried to remind himself.

There were only two servants in the room that Tyrion could see when he peered around the door frame to the kitchens. There was no door, which allowed the heat from the baking to move freely through the servant's quarters.

"Now, my son, you must be the most quiet you have ever been, else you will put us both in danger," he whispered.

Tyrion took another look into the room, finding that one of the servants had left the room; the second was facing away, folding and stretching dough. She was singing a song to herself, thoroughly lost in her work. The father pressed his son against himself, and slowly crept down the few stairs leading to the floor of the kitchens. He made for the preparation tables, ducking below the ledge and tucking in tightly against the base. The woman turned on her skirts as he drew into the shadows, pulling Robb tightly against him.

"Jayne," the other servant returned to the room, and Tyrion's heart went into his throat.

"What is it, Roslyn?" Jayne, the girl once preparing the dough, responded.

"I need to bring a tray of sweets and some ale up to Lord Wyman's quarters." Roslyn responded, stepping further into the kitchen and standing before Tyrion's hiding place.

 _Oh please, Robb, make no noise,_ he willed his son.

"The lord is up early," Jayne responded.

"He is, but he did not send for me to bring him back your comments on it. Make the bread, girl, and be sure not to burn it."

"You should be back shortly, shouldn't you?" The girl responded.

"I should hope so, but I do not see the sense in waking a servant to wait about to fetch the lord's plate and cup when he has finished; I am awake and capable of standing outside in the halls until he has finished. Just as you are capable of baking bread and preparing the eggs in my absence, provided you keep your head out of the clouds,"

"Yes, Roslyn," Jayne responded.

"Good. Shira should be in soon to assist you." Roslyn replied.

Tyrion relaxed as the woman left the main baking room and Jayne was left to the dough once more, though not without some fanciful mimicking of her superior.

When she turned her back once more, Tyrion made for a row of large baskets and trunks. He carefully squeezed behind them, placing Robb on the ground as he gently tried to pull a basket in front of the two of them. Robb let out a cry in protest, causing his father to whirl around quickly to take the boy in his arms to soothe him.

"Hello?" Jayne's voice called out. Tyrion held his hand over Robb's mouth in case the boy was to cry once more. "Damn cats,"

"Is that any way for a woman to speak?" A male's voice entered the kitchen.

"A lady perhaps, but a scullery maid?" Jayne turned. "Was it you making noises to scare me so?"

"It was not I,"

"We were given cats to be rid of the rats, and now we have a cat problem," Jayne replied. Tyrion shut his eyes, willing the man to leave the room.

"You have another problem as well," the man said.

"What would that be Ser Rodrick?" Jayne replied seductively.

_Oh fuck._

"Some escapees. Seems like the Lady Stark and her husband have gone missing, the commander suspects that perhaps she is on her way out of the castle without permission. If you hear anything, you will tell me, right Jayne?"

"Certainly," Jayne responded. "But you are not going to leave me with this news and not give me some proper...information."

"Roslyn could be back any moment," Rodrick replied.

"She is off serving the master. And Shira will be late as she always is," the unmistakable sound of a kiss echoed the room.

"I suppose…" Rodrick replied.

Tyrion felt his face grow warm as he realized what the two were planning. _Oh fuck the gods,_ he settled to a seated position. If the man was a good fucker, he would trap Tyrion here for a good while with his son.

The only dilemma was in regards to Robb and his constant eating schedule—while he had slowed down in frequency over the past several weeks, the boy would be in want for his own morning meal soon enough. It was at this time that Tyrion hoped that Rodrick was the worst fucker in Westeros.

The groans erupting from Jayne seemed to suggest otherwise. And now was not the time to tempt fate and hope that perhaps the fucking was too good that they would not notice the dwarf sneaking past the two. If Tyrion was caught now, he would be facing the grip of a knight, and he would certainly be escorted to the prisons with Robb taken from his grasp.

He rocked and soothed his son, hoping to keep the boy from making sounds. He even hoped to rock the baby to sleep, guarantee quiet for a period of time. But the moans and cries on the other side of the baskets was making it near impossible. Tyrion laid his head back against the trunk he leaned up against and closed his eyes.

"I suppose this is some kind of payback for my own stupidity," he mumbled gently. Robb was grabbing at the furs Tyrion wore about his shoulders under the cloak, tugging it in his small hands. When Tyrion slightly opened his eye to look down he saw Robb had taken the fur and was chewing it fervently. The father sat upright once more, restless to get out from the corner, and pulled his son fully into his lap, placing the boy's back against his belly. He then draped the fur over the boy's shoulder and watched the child contentedly munch on the garment.

"I would not be surprised if you grow your teeth in soon, my wolf cub," Tyrion whispered into the croak of his son's neck. The baby cooed at the feel of hot breath on the skin of his neck, a noise thankfully covered by a groan from Rodrick.

"Jayne!" A female voice rung out after Jayne cried out the knight's name, startling Tyrion as well. Though, if he were to guess, his embarrassment was a lot less than Jayne's.

"Roslyn!" The girl cried, and there was the sound of feet hitting the floor. Tyrion scooped Robb into his arms, readying himself to flee toward the door at the next moment.

"Get out of here, now!" Roslyn cried. "The both of you!"

"I can explain, Roslyn," Rodrick interrupted.

"I am most assured you cannot give me an explanation I care to believe," Roslyn replied, shooing them out into the hallway. Tyrion took the chance to dart around the chest and into the next room.

He stopped for a moment to pant, the excitement and fear rushing through his body kept every nerve alive. Robb let out another small cry.

"We are almost there, little one," Tyrion assured his son. He began to run down the hall, the door to freedom just ahead of him. His knees and hips ached from all the squatting and quick movements, but he pushed his legs anyways, willing them to move faster toward the door.

His heart was ready to burst with exhaustion and exhilaration when he reached the portal; cradling Robb in his elbow he grabbed hold of the door and pulled with all the force he had left.

As he passed through he heard footsteps behind, but knew that he could not spare the moment to look. He slammed the door behind him and took off running.

"What the hell was that?" Roslyn's voice cried out behind him.

"Probably one of the scullery lads," Jayne replied.

 _Indeed, think of me as nothing more than one of the scullery children._ He heaved as he ran across the field. The fingers of light could be seen reaching across the night sky.

"Sansa," Tyrion said aloud. He held Robb tightly against his body as he willed his legs to keep running.

Podrick would soon be on his way back to the castle to see their fate, as Tyrion had instructed him if they did not arrive by light. He had also instructed the boy to find Robb and return him to his mother in case that the two of them were caught in their escape attempt.

As the castle lessened in the distance behind him, Tyrion could see the tree where the group planned to meet on the horizon. How he wished he had a horse to ride him there faster, how he wished he could cry across the field to assure Sansa that he was on his way.

But sound carries and he could not risk those behind him hearing him. So Tyrion ran as he had not run since he was a child with Jaime beside him. His brother always allowing him to win, to make him feel better about himself when everyone else wanted to remind him what a monster he was.

Robb let out a cry as he jostled in his father's arms, clearly unhappy with the bumping about he was enduring. Tyrion slowed a little, the tree growing larger before him. A group of horses was identifiable now, as well as a cluster of bodies sitting together. He could see one body outstretched on the ground, another hunched over. A third person was making their way to the horses.

It had to be Podrick, off on a new rescue mission. His always faithful servant, his dear friend.

"Sansa!" Tyrion cried out, he could not contain it any longer. The group stirred, the body sitting upright. Her long auburn hair blew about her face.

He slowed to a walk as she scrambled to her feet. Her strides were long and sure, her skirts flying out behind her as she closed the distance between the two of them. He could see the tear stains on her cheeks as she neared the two, she brushed the hairs which stuck to the lines away from her cheeks.

She crashed to the earth before him, her knees sinking into the light snowfall, her skirts dampening. Sansa threw her arms about Tyrion, tucking her face into his neck.

"You are well, you came back to me," she sobbed. Tyrion placed his free hand on the crown of her head, stroking the auburn hair lightly.

"I promised I would. And a Lannister always pays his debts." He assured her.

She pulled herself from his body, taking Robb eagerly from her arms. She kissed the boy's face multiple times, drawing him to her chest and hugging him tightly. Rocking him. She then turned back to Tyrion, throwing her arm about his neck. He directed her face toward his, kissing her deeply. Her cheeks were warm and wet with newly shed tears.

The rest of the group approached slowly, giving the small family time to reunite after their terrifying separation. Tyrion looked up to see that Jorah was leading two horses behind him.

"We should be on our way, I am afraid a scullery maid might have caught sight of me at the last second."

"They will know by now that you have escaped, m'lord," Podrick replied.

Sansa looked at him, her brilliant blue eyes rimmed red. She sniffed and he wiped away her tears affectionately. "I know, Tyrion, but let me just hold you a moment longer."

"Hold me all you like when we have made camp. Come, my lady," Tyrion took hold of her hand and acted as an anchor as she stood to her feet.

"The black horse is for you, Lord Tyrion, to share with Lady Sansa," Jorah motioned toward the horse he held by the reins.

"Thank you, ser." Tyrion answered sincerely. "And thank you, Ser Harry," Tyrion turned to the other knight. "For delivering my wife safely."

"It was an honor, my lord." Harry bowed slightly.

Tyrion was then helped by Ser Jorah onto the saddle of the horse. He took hold of Robb while Sansa was assisted into the spot behind him. She received Robb back into her arms, placing him between herself and Tyrion. She held to the baby with one hand, her other grasping the front of her husband's jerkin. Tyrion took hold of the reins and kissed the horse forward, following Ser Harry who led the way north.


	56. Names

Sansa held tightly to Tyrion's waist as he nudged the horse below them to continue moving. The snow was coming down in droves as they moved further north following Ser Harry's lead.

"Are you sure you are taking us to Castle Black?" Ser Jorah called from behind.

"I am positive that I am headed to Castle Black, what do you mistake me for? A dundering traitor?" Harry responded with annoyance.

Sansa could feel Robb move against her chest where she had strapped her son with lengths of cloth intricately fastened about her torso. Letting go of Tyrion's waist she wrapped her cloak about her body, pulling the hood over her pink cheeks. She was trying her best to ignore the cold, but she was concerned that the same could not be said for her son.

"I would not be surprised if we've been blown of course," Tyrion commented as he blinked up into the white sky; his golden locks were crowned with snowflakes. Sansa rustled the curls to free them of their coating, her fingers gently scratching her husband's head.

"I think we are on the King's Road; the path is far too wide for it to be any Northern road." Sansa replied to his doubt.

"I was hoping we would avoid this path," Tyrion sighed. "We should have gone Northeast, avoiding Winterfell and any major travel routes. This will have us caught in a matter of days."

"We have made it several weeks between here and the river and no one has found us yet. We are in capable hands, my love," she kissed the back of his neck. He let go of the reins with one hand to squeeze his hand over the ones clutching about his middle.

"There is a village ahead!" Podrick exclaimed as he came back to the group. He had offered to risk being lost in the growing whiteness to scout ahead for danger or shelter. "It is maybe an hour's ride at this pace," he explained, his horse's heavy breathing signaled he had ridden quickly to their side.

"Should we camp here, my lady?" Lady Brienne turned on her horse to catch sight of Sansa. "Or will your son be able to make it through the cold to the next village?"

"He will be fine," Sansa assured the woman, rubbing her son's back vigorously. "It would be best if we could find some place which had walls and a fireplace for him to spend the night. He has not slept soundly in the makeshift shelters,"

"Should we push our mounts faster?" Tyrion asked Harry, who halted the group to try to look through the falling snow.

"My only fear is them coming upon unseen ice and falling, at the very best merely injuring one of our horses. At the very worst—killing someone. It's the blessing of the Seven that Podrick's mount did not fall in his rush back to us," Harry sighed. "We can get them into a clipped walk, but I do not think going quickly would be wise."

Tyrion shifted in the saddle to look back at Sansa. "Are you sure you will be well to make it so far, my love?" He asked, his green eyes showing concern.

Her breasts were aching in need to be released of their contents, her milk coming back in force when it was more convenient to feed her son from her body instead of trying to take rations for him to eat. And Robb was pressing against them in want of food in his chilling body. But it would do little good for either of them to stop now on the road in the increasing snow and the bitter cold.

"We must press on," Sansa nodded her head. "I do not think Robb can spend one more night in the bitterness without completely dying from the cold."

Tyrion kicked his heels into the horse, kicking into the saddle pad, as far as his legs would go. "We carry onwards, Harry," he instructed.

"It has not snowed so heavily since I was in the Vale," Sansa shuddered, her fingers numb from the blowing wind and her thighs aching in the cold. "I do hope that there may be a place for us to purchase more clothing, or even skins."

"Are you cold?" Tyrion reached for his own fur cloak, beginning to shift it from his shoulders. Sansa caught hold of the garment and his hand before he had worked it free.

"It would do me little good to be without my clever husband, my lord," Sansa insisted. "I will be able to bear the cold until we find more promising shelter."

Tyrion frowned as he pulled the collar of the cloak back into place. She leaned forward to place another kiss into his neck, pressing her body against the back of his, wrapping her own cloak about his arms to create a wind block for Robb between the two of them.

The boy was beginning to kick in a need to get down from his mother's wrap and try to wobble on his shaky feet, to be freed from the bondage he had been trapped in for hours at a time. And letting out small cries in protest for food.

"I know, my son, I wish I could ease your burden, but you are growing so big and my arms are not strong enough to hold you for so long," Sansa kissed the top of his hairy head.

The snow only grew worse as the lights of a village could be seen in the distance. She had pressed her forehead against the back of Tyrion's neck, and could feel his muscles relax when he caught sight of the houses ahead.

The riders urged their horses into a trot at the sight of the villages, all holding their breaths in a unified prayer to keep their mounts upright on their feet. When the houses of the town began to pass on either side, Harry and Tyrion let out large sighs of relief.

"There should be an inn for us to abide in." Brienne said, "I remember passing through this village with Lady Catelyn,"

"You don't by chance happen to remember exactly where that was?" Tyrion's annoyance lay thickly on his comment.

"Be kind, Tyrion, we are all cold and hungry." Sansa scolded him.

"I believe it is nearest the stable yard, my lord," Brienne pointed ahead toward a large covered building with open sides. Several horses could be seen standing side by side in the entryway, their tails flicking in the wind.

Brienne had been right; it was a well-worn tavern and appeared to be empty. Podrick came to the side of the horse which Tyrion and Sansa rode upon, dismounting his own horse and tying the reins to a post. He then helped Sansa and Robb from the saddle, then Tyrion.

The riders were stiff legged from the hours spent in saddle. Sansa's rear and back hurt from the journey, and she was more than eager to get her son off of her chest.

"I could use a piss right now," Harry responded. "Pardon my ladies,"

Podrick took the horses from the lords and lady, gathering their reins in his hands. "I will board the animals,"

"Thank you, Podrick. If you are in need of assistance, I would be more than willing to lend you my aid," Brienne held out her hand.

"I should be able to handle this on my own, thank you, m'lady." Pod insisted.

"Let us get in from the cold, there is nothing doing standing out here like a group of fools," Tyrion began the short walk to the front of the inn.

The warmth stung frigid skin as Sansa stepped in from the howling winds to the warm room of the tavern. A heavyset woman was cleaning glasses with a rag, a man was tending to the floors; all patrons seemed to have left or bedded up for the evening.

"Pardon me," Brienne stepped forward. "Would you have vacancy in your tavern for the evening? We are weary travelers headed north and need escape from the storm raging outside."

The woman had not yet moved, her blue eyes taking in the sight of the snow covered bunch with fascination. As soon as Brienne spoke she had been prodded to life and made her way around the countertop to wave them inwards.

"Come in from the cold," she offered them. "This is not weather to be stuck in, good sers and ladies, we have plenty of room upstairs."

"We will be happy to pay you well, madam," Harry responded, fingering his purse of gold kept on his hip.

"Come and warm yourself by the fire, you must be frozen solid," the mann spoke when he was prodded by the talk of money. Sansa guessed the man was the husband who owned the tavern, his wife must be his drink keeper.

"I can get you all a warm mug of spiced wine and some bread, if that would do for you," the wife shot her husband an annoyed look.

"I hate to trouble you more," Sansa could feel Robb growing restless as his skin must have been burning from the changing temperature. "But do you have any dry warm furs?"

Robb began crying now, his wail accompanied by him throwing his head back. Sansa clutched him to her body, rubbing his back lightly.

"Why, you have a little one!" The woman exclaimed. "I will go and get you some warm things—is he well?"

"He is cold and hungry," Sansa answered.

"I will fetch some furs and cloths, my lady," the woman turned quickly on her heels.

Sansa took to untying her son from her body, brushing away the snow from his limbs and hair as she freed him. Tyrion, Harry, Brienne, and Podrick took to brushing their hair out, stamping the snow from their trousers and removing cloaks.

"Let me take him," Tyrion held his hands out to take his son from her. Sansa handed him forth, beginning to brush the snow from her hair and shoulders, shaking the cloak off in the entryway as she pulled it from her shoulders.

The travelers had taken to the table closest to the fire, pressing hands against the heat given off. Tyrion held tightly to Robb until Sansa had joined them.

"How is my son?" Sansa kissed the boy's round cheek.

"Less fussy," Tyrion smiled, rubbing his hand over the baby's back.

"My lady," the inn keeper's wife placed several items on the table behind Sansa and Tyrion. "If you are in need of anything more, please let me know. I understand how little ones are to travel with."

"Thank you," Sansa offered the woman a smile.

"I will bring hot food and drinks to you shortly," the woman announced aloud so the small band could hear her. Turning on her feet she then disappeared into the kitchens.

Sansa faced the table, placing Robb onto the wood. She investigated what the woman had provided for her, and was pleased to see a length of warm linen, several strips of thicker cloth next to it, and a large fur skin.

"You will be warm soon," Sansa rubbed her child's pink cheek.

She then took to unswaddling him, his cries growing fiercer as the air hit his warm torso. She hummed quietly to the boy, trying to settle his wails. He began to kick when she removed the layers of soaked linen from his hips, carefully drawing the strips in on themselves so as not to make a further mess of his waste.

She let him lay on the table naked, his little legs kicking in protest as she readied the blanket next to him. He was pushing himself up, attempting to turn over to his knees to try to escape when Sansa caught hold of him.

"Not yet, my boy," she scolded him.

She placed him on his feet, leaning his body against hers as she began to wrap the fresh strips of linen about his hips and through his legs, doubling the thickness in front of his tiny man's part. She then quickly transported him to the large blanket of cloth and wrapped him tightly in it.

Sansa took hold of the wet linens and turned to place them before the fire, holding her son awkwardly in her arms.

"Here, my lady, I can assist you," Brienne took the wet furs and linens from her hand and laid them on the floor before the crackling flames. The soiled strips she placed to the side. Sansa would have to ask the inn keeper's wife is she could borrow a wooden basin to wash them out in.

The innkeeper's wife returned to the table with trays of warm food in her hand. She set them down around the table, the smell making Sansa's stomach reel in want. She never imagined tavern chicken smelling as good as those at the feasts of old at Winterfell. She was sure she would eat tree bark at this point if it was baked and seasoned with salt.

Harry, Brienne, Jorah, and Tyrion took their places at the table, all heads turning to look at the door as it swung open on its hinges to reveal a very snow covered Podrick.

"Take your outer cloaks off, boy, and come and eat some chicken, it is warm and hot and will be more comforting than any girl you've ever had," Harry said with a laugh, the statement causing Podrick's cheeks to redden.

"Take my plate, Podrick. When the woman has returned with the spiced wine I will request another," Sansa offered.

"But, m'lady—"

"Needs to feed another in the meantime," she smiled. "Go on,"

Podrick shook the snow from his hair and threw his wet outer garments on the floor next to the rest, cautiously making his way to the table and taking the seat next to Tyrion. His fingers were nearly purple from their chilled state.

"Are you sure, m'lady?" Podrick asked.

"Eat, Pod," Tyrion commanded. "My lady?"

Sansa sat next to her husband, her back facing the table and her feet on the other side of the bench. "Yes, my lord?"

Tyrion ripped a large piece of chicken from what he was given, his fingers shiny from the grease. He handed it to her. "Eat something, for the moment,"

Sansa placed the meat in her mouth, relishing in its moist warmth. She hummed in pleasure as she downed the food. Tyrion then placed a chunk of bread in the heel of her hand. She ate it slowly, savoring the sweetness.

"I should not eat your dinner, my husband," she said after she had swallowed the bread. "I can wait for my own."

"You may eat as much of my portion as you like," Tyrion grasped her chin in his greasy fingers, leaning forth to kiss her on the mouth.

Robb let out a cry in protest. Sansa placed him against her shoulder, standing to take a chair next to the fire, her back to the group. She hastily untied her dress and freed a breast from her somehow damp shift. She had to move the end of her hair, wet from the snow, from her shoulder so that Robb would stop twisting his impatient hands in it.

"Now hurry so I may get a meal of my own," Sansa placed him against her nipple. He latched quickly and Sansa let out a silent sigh at the relief it was on her breast. She rocked him gently in as he tugged against her, enjoying the warmth of the fire before her.

* * *

Sansa had not realized she had dozed off in the chair, her head lolling forward, until she felt a blanket draped about her shoulders. She startled awake, disturbing the lazily suckling baby on her breast, to see the tavern keeper's wife tucking a blanket about her shoulders.

"I am sorry, my lady, I did not mean to startle you so. Your husband said I should not disturb you, that you deserved your rest." The woman let go of the blanket quickly.

"I was just not expecting anyone and I have been on the road for several months," Sansa rubbed her eye with the heel of her free hand. "I will apologize now for startling you…"

"Lyessa," the woman smile, brushing her dark hair away from her pale face. "Your boy is absolutely beautiful,"

"He is just around a year old," Sansa smiled, pulling him from her breast and placing him on her shoulder where Lyessa could better see him.

"I had a little one, once," Lyessa's voice was soft. "He did not survive very long; he was very sick and we had little money to pay a maester to make him well." She stood, clutching her hands before her hips. "He is buried out back, with my husband's sister. It has been a hard winter,"

"It has been," Sansa felt her heart drop for the woman. She stood, drawing the blanket about her shoulders. "And I am so very sorry for your loss, my lady. I could not imagine losing my little Robb. I would be absolutely devastated."

"My husband said we will try again in the spring, when the gods have returned to the North. That will only happen when the true wardens are established at Winterfell," the woman reddened in the face, placing her hand over her mouth as her blue eyes widened. "Me and my foolish mouth! Please do not tell my husband I go about saying empty headed twittish ideas. I just have not spoken with a lady in so long and—"

"The wardens will return, Lyessa," Sansa placed a warm hand on the woman's arm in reassurance, rubbing the sleeve of her dress slowly. The woman looked back with a smile of understanding, her eyes sparkled with the recognition. "Now, where did my husband and our companions go off to? My husband being the mouthy shorter one; there is no chance he did not offend you some way or another."

"He was gentle with me, my...my Lady," the woman curtsied. "He was very quiet when you had drifted off, glancing back to you often, hushing the handsome young knight when he spoke too loudly." The woman bit her lip. "Your husband is a very…interesting sort of man."

"He is, but he is a good kind, and in these times I think that is all that should matter." Sansa shifted her growing son to her other arm, covering herself once more, pulling at the strings of the dress. "Now my husband—"

"Oh, he is up the stairs…the far room on the left. There should be plenty of room for the two of you. I even brought a box up for the baby, with some extra blankets." Lyessa smiled brilliantly. She reached out to touch the back of Robb's dark head. "If my young lord is in want of anything…"

"I think we will be well for the night, if there is any trouble you will alert us?" Sansa turned to the staircase.

"Your companions asked much the same, I will," she smiled. "My husband and I…we always prospered under the Direwolf; we would like to see them return once again. You look much like your mother, my lady. I only saw her once from a distance, but her hair was a brilliant as yours. I would say that you have her beautiful likeness, my lady."

"Thank you," Sansa smiled, and realized she took it as a true compliment for the first time in many moons.

The hall was cool and quiet, the snores of soundly sleeping knights could be heard as she passed two rooms to her left and right. Robb was making small sounds of distress, little cries of wanting to be put down.

Sansa held to him tightly as she entered the last room, walking on her tiptoes so as not to disturb her sleeping mate. She had nothing to worry about, however, as he greeted her with a warm smile from the bed where he had a book across his lap.

"Where did you get that from?" Sansa shook her head with a grin on her mouth.

"The tavern owner had it; it's some local collection of Stark myths that one of the local learned men wrote down for the tavern keeper. The man is not very well educated, however, and he has only finished some of the work. He thought I would enjoy it,"

"And did you?" Sansa set Robb on the floor, turning to shut the door.

"It is amusing," he smiled. "The Lannisters are a bit exaggerated, but I supposed I cannot expect anything less from Stark sympathizers," Tyrion shut the book, placing it on the overstuffed mattress.

He jumped from the bed to catch Robb in his arms, the boy crawling about the floor clumsily. Tyrion freed the boy from the last of the swaddling clothes which wrapped about his torso, his knees getting tangled in the length.

Sansa spotted the saddle bag in the far corner and went to it, pulling out the long tunic for Robb. She took advantage of Tyrion having a grip on him and covered the boy who squealed in protest. Sansa then smoothed down his fly away hair, placing a kiss on the top of his head.

"He is well fed?" Tyrion asked. Sansa nodded, turning to her loose bodice and tying it tightly once more.

"There is a plate for you on the bed table; I made sure you were left something to eat when this child of mine was done draining your energy." Tyrion indicated to the wooden nightstand. A plate of food containing some chicken and several chunks of bread sat with a tall cup.

She had not realized how hungry she was until she caught hold of the food, stumbling across the room to begin to eat the chicken with embarrassingly unladlylike manners. She took the plate in her now greasy fingers, backing up to sit on the bed and place the makeshift tray in her lap.

"If we are to have more children without the help of servants, we must wait several years, my love, or I will starve. I need to eat between children." Sansa laughed as she swallowed, licking her fingers noisily. "I am only doing this for the sake of my sister's memory," she tried to condone the action.

"You are doing it because you are hungry, my lady, there is no harm in that," Tyrion had settled to the floor with Robb, helping his son balance on his tiny feet by holding the small boy's hands. "I will not tell anyone outside of this room that my lady has lost all sense of civility."

Sansa felt her eyes widen in shock, her mouth filled with the bread. "I do so have a sense—"

"I jape, Sansa," Tyrion assured her. Robb took an unsteady step forward, falling into his father's lap.

"If you teach him to walk, you will have to run after him," Sansa smiled coyly. "I will enjoy that picture."

"Your mother is cruel to your father," Tyrion turned to his son, his lip jutting out.

"He has your eyes," Sansa said after swallowing her next bite. "I noticed it the other while we were riding. When the sun was bright and he was looking up at the birds ahead, I realized he was looking at them with green eyes, not ones of Tully blue. They have turned emerald, my lord. Your curls and your eyes—he will become the son of your vices soon enough," she mock groaned.

"I tell you, the cruelty and disrespect I put up with," Tyrion laughed.

"Dada, dada," Robb screeched called Tyrion looked down at the boy with crossed eyebrows.

Sansa felt her heart warm, placing the plate aside as she journeyed to floor beside her small family.

"Tyrion!" Her voice filled with joy.

"What?"

"He is talking to you, he is calling you," she reached her hand out, running her palm over the back of the baby's head. "I have heard children so young as he say this, Rickon called my father it. Seeing as father is bit hard when you are just learning," A smile pushed its way across her face.

Tyrion's cheeks flushed as he looked over at her, his eyes wide, the scar deepened in the gesture as the candlelight struck his face. "He…he called me?"

"Is that your father, Robb?" Sansa asked.

"Dada! Dada!" Robb insisted, his mouth widened in a smile as he clapped his hands.

"You are so clever, my boy!" Sansa cried, placing a kiss on the back of her son's head.

"He is…he is calling me? My son is calling me?" Tyrion moved nary a muscle as he looked down to his very excited son. The boy seemed unphased by his father's shock, pulling at his father's clothes, trying to pull himself to his feet once more.

"He has your wits as well," she assured him.

Tyrion smiled down at the boy with eyes that suggested he was anything but assured. If Sansa had to guess what he felt, it was fear. Or confusion. A memory no doubt of his own loveless relationship between father and son. The sins of his father run deep; I do hope they will pass over my husband. Sansa watched as Robb continued to pull against his responseless father.

Sansa grabbed hold of her son's hands, turning him about so that he could walk with his fingers firmly gripped around her fingers, his feet wobbling about the ground. Her chest was burning with the thought of her son no longer needing her by his side for every moment; a thought she was glad for, for when it came time for battle she was going to be among the troops, just as her mother was by her brother's side.

And it would do little to place her son in path of destruction.

"Let me…let me help him," Tyrion interrupted Sansa's forethought, taking the little hands from her. Sansa wanted to resent him a little for it, but in the joy in her heart would not allow it.


	57. Retreat

Robb was cuddled against the curve of her body, her arms wrapped around him, her chin resting on the back of his head. Tyrion lay behind her, his body pressed against her, his fingers running lazily up and down her arm, causing her skin to tingle. His face was tucked into the back of her neck, her thick braid pressed under his cheek. The pattern he drew up and down her arm was soothing, causing her eyelids to grow heavy, encouraged by a belly that was finally full with food. The covers over her were warm, unlike the thinning blankets they had brought with them into the growing winter.

"If I closed my eyes right now, I could pretend that this is Winterfell, that there is no war at my doorstep." She spoke aloud. Tyrion's lips pushed into the back of her neck as his arm wrapped around her arm, tipping her towards him.

"You will not have to close your eyes for much longer for it to be true," he let go of her arm to run his fore-knuckles across her cheek.

"I wish that we had been in Winterfell tonight. We are so close; the woman downstairs has seen my family in the past."

"If we are journeying up the King's Road, we will pass your home," he sighed, turning onto his back. "I thought we would be going the back paths towards Castle Black—it could be dangerous to sneak past the walls of so heavily guarded a castle."

"We have made it out of captivity several times; it is becoming a talent of ours. While Varys and Lord Baelish were good at lying, we are good at hiding and masquerading. Surely that counts as some strength in this game of thrones." She leaned forward to place a kiss on her son's forehead, stroking his hair with her fingertips. "Besides, we are only playing for one castle, not for a series of thrones."

"You know that we can only withdraw from this war for so long, my Wolf. It is only a matter of time before we are pulled in, begged to make allies. Your Lady Margaery will beg for your help in aiding her family in taking the Iron Throne, just as she wished to make you promise before you left her behind. And it will only be a matter of time before we may have to look westward, southward toward Casterly Rock." Tyrion shook his head.

"Because of Rickon?" Sansa sighed. "Do you think it is true, now that we have left White Harbour behind? Do you think that we are going to regret leaving the safety of those walls when Rickon returns?"

"I do not know, Sansa," he turned toward her once more, his cheek pressing into her shoulder. "I think we would not have fared much longer in the grasp of Lord Manderly."

Sansa bit her lip. She was nearly a year older from when she left King's Landing. She had a baby, she was married to her House's hated enemy, she was wed to a dwarf…this was not what she thought she would have when she was thirteen. She imagined meeting a handsome valiant knight; she did not speak deceptively when she told Ser Harry she would have fancied him when she was once younger and naïve.

"I did not mean to worry you further, Sansa. It is just that while we have our allies, we have much stronger enemies." Tyrion groaned as he pushed himself upwards into a reclining position, looking down on her. "What do you wish us to do, Sansa? Push onto Castle Black still, or wait until we see what Stannis does?"

"I believe we need to press onto Stannis. He will only see me as a player if he sees me active and at the helm, will he not? He would not want me to wait around and then leech onto him as we wait outside the doors of Winterfell for his aid."

"If all this planning is exhausting for me, I can only imagine how weary you must be, Sansa," Tyrion leaned forward and placed a kiss on her forehead.

"I am tired," she admitted. "But I am still afraid to shut my eyes at night."

"I am here," he assured her. "As I have been for every night since we have been reunited. And I will do my best to always be at your side, Sansa. I've left it once, and I did not like the consequences."

Sansa let go of the small body of her boy and turned over on her side to face her husband. He leaned downward and kissed her solidly on the mouth, his lips warm against hers. She cupped his cheek gently, her thumb brushing strokes on his growing beard.

"Try to rest,"

"Yes, my lord," Sansa lay her head down, her heavy lids falling and sending her into a dreamless world of restless sleep.

* * *

The morning sun streamed in brightly from the far window, causing Sansa to finally awaken. She was surprised that Robb had not awoken her with the need for a fresh change of small clothes or food, and she turned her head down to where she had tucked the boy against her the night before.

There was no child there now, Sansa realized slowly as she looked at the small indentation in the sheets. She quickly sat up in the bed, her hair falling from her thick braid as she tore off the covers from the inn bed. The boy was not wrapped up in the sheets, nor was he on the floor before her.

Sansa pulled herself from the bed, hands shaking as she reached for her house coat. She took a deep breath and forced herself to look around. Tyrion was nowhere to be found in the small room, so he must have slipped off with the boy in the early morning. She had to believe that her husband was caring for her child and that Robb and he had not been taken from her grasp.

Her arms were shaking as she pushed open the door, her breath wavering as she forced her feet to move forward. The sounds of dishes and people talking filled the hallway and she hastened her way to the stairs.

A sigh of relief escape her lips as she descended the stairs and entered into the tavern she had drifted off to sleep in the night before. Brienne and Harry sat at the end of the table, tucking into warm bread and sweet smelling porridge. Podrick sat at the other end, Tyrion across from him with Robb tucked onto his stunted lap.

Another set of guests joined the small traveling party, sitting on either side of Jorah—Lady Myranda and Ser Albar. Sansa felt a smile creep across her mouth as she beheld the friends she had acquired in the Vale.

"Good morning, your Majesty," Lyessa greeted her cheerily.

"And best of mornings to you," Sansa responded, bowing her head slightly.

"You look more refreshed, but I am sure you will feel better once you have had some food in your belly." The woman placed a reassuring hand on Sansa's shoulders. "From the looks of it, my lady, you are among good friends and trusted advisors. The North remembers, and the old gods bless you for your desire to return."

Sansa smiled shyly in response. "I hope so. I am hungry, as you said, and have yet to see my boy this morning."

"Then I shan't keep you further, my lady." Lyessa stepped to the side.

Robb gave out an excited squeal when he caught sight of Sansa from Tyrion's lap. His small hands grabbed for the table and he struggled to pull himself to his feet. His father's strong arm about his middle kept him grounded, though it did not stop Robb from bouncing in excitement, letting out a string of babble as Sansa approached. "Momma!" The boy called.

"Hello, my love," Sansa's eyes widened as her mouth curved into a grin. "How is my handsome prince this morning?"

"He has an appetite," Tyrion laughed, gesturing to the bite size rips of bread which littered the side of the table. Robb reached his hands upwards as Sansa approached.

"I think you are in quite experienced hands," she cupped the back of the boy's downy head, leaning over to place a kiss on the crown of his head.

Tyrion pulled back the boy's lip, revealing a line of inflamed pink gums. "I might have discovered why Robb was determined to be inconsolable the other day."

"What has happened?" Her heart quickened as she looked at the reddened grooves of her baby's mouth.

"All is well, Sansa. But our little cub here is growing a set of teeth." Tyrion ran his fingers along the boy's gum line.

"He cannot be old enough for that yet, he is still a baby." Sansa took a chunk of bread in her hand and proffered it to her child. She did not want to think again of Robb growing so quickly, so far away from the safety of a true home.

"He must be near nine months, Sansa. He is near ready. I remember when Myrcella was cutting her teeth; nothing could console the girl other than a chunk of wood etched with grooves that Jaime made her."

"I wish we could slow him for the time being," she sighed. "We are going off to war, are we not? And he is just growing teeth and crawling."

"There is nothing we can do besides guarantee him a place to grow up, Sansa. And we will do that."

"Besides, I am sure you want to know all the words that Robb has learned from 0being around Lord Tyrion." Myranda's voice came from behind Sansa. The younger girl turned to embrace the Royce daughter.

"I was not expecting to see you until after this mess, Lady Randa,"

"Well, someone had to come find your merry band of mischief makers. Lord Wyman has received news that Stannis Baratheon is headed south with his band of bannermen and men of the Night's Watch."

"Where is he off to? Winterfell? So early, what with the snows falling down?"

"The Boltons are weakened by the offense that the Manderlys and several other houses led during Ramsay's wedding."

"So Lord Wyman liked to brag about," Tyrion groaned.

"Stannis has been starving the Boltons out. They will not be much of a match—they are hungry and their muscles and bodies weak because of it."

"The Northern men are hardy, Randa, even you know this. I fear it will not be enough to stop them." Sansa bit her lip.

"Stannis' men are not going to be able to hold off food from the castle for much longer. Bolton sympathizers outside the walls of Winterfell have head wind of the ongoings and it will not be long until they will be a fed force to be reckoned with."

"What do you suggest we do then? Go and meet Stannis before Winterfell, or wait until the aftermath?" Sansa looked to Brienne and Harry now.

"I think it would be unwise to wait for Stannis to take the victory. We should meet him—and Lord Wyman agrees." Ser Albar spoke up.

"What do you mean?"

"He is going to send reinforcements behind you, to join Stannis and vow to help him overthrow the Bolton's power in the North."

"How can we trust him?" Tyrion turned to look at Albar with crossed eyebrows.

"I do not see you having much of a choice in the matter, but noneth less, I would be confident in saying that Lord Wyman has found Sansa's escape with the lot of you to be rather amusing. He cannot help but see a spark of the Stark streak of independence in the act. If anything, Sansa, it might have been your throwing off of his decree that won him over."

"Well I am glad I did something right," Sansa sighed.

"Know that the farmers in the field and the hedgeknights in the area will raise their plows and swords in your honor, Lady Stark," Lyessa approached table, a steaming bowl of porridge in her hand. She placed it on the table before Sansa. "But first you must eat. You have been caring for our future Northern prince, you must keep your strength as well."

"When should we leave?" Sansa asked, turning back to the table.

"As soon as we can; I would say this afternoon, if you feel you are up to it." Ser Albar responded. "It took me and Randa not much time to catch up to you, and a fleet with no concerns of being covert could move just as quickly."

"I am assuming that means that Lord Wyman has sent them to follow right behind you?" Tyrion held onto the heel of bread Robb was contentedly chewing on.

"He did. And they are going to head north on the King's Road." Lady Randa spoke up this time.

"Which means it will not take them long to pass by here," Jorah spoke up finally.

"We have some men who swore their fealty to House Mormont among our small army, they would be encouraged no doubt to have the Bear to lead them to victory against their current oppressors." Albar looked down at Jorah with dark eyes.

"You are asking me to lead a group of troops into the battle, are you not?" Jorah asked, paused over his bowl of porridge with a dripping cut of sweet bread in hand.

"I think that as the member of an important Northern House, then yes, it would be best for you to bring to life the new rise of the North. If for the preservation for House Stark at the very least."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then you would be mocked in the north, sent away once more across the sea." Albar responded bluntly.

"If you tell him that, he will yearn for it." Tyrion muttered. "It is Lady Sansa's ultimate choice to leave today or wait until a later time?"

Sansa had fallen quiet, her head spinning as Albar and Randa informed her of the unexpected plans and backing of Lord Wyman. Of course, she knew the lord was only helping so that he could late be remembered in the songs of history, but could she refuse the help she needed because she wanted genuine loyalty?

"Sansa?" Randa prodded gently.

"I will have to give you an answer in a moment," Sansa began, "but I think we need one more night in the inn to rest our weary bodies and minds. The soldiers and you might not have been traveling quietly, taking the King's Road as liberally as you would like, but we have been slow so as not to make a mistake, give up our location to people who may want the worst to befall us. We are an exhausted troop, and I will be of no further use to you exhausted."

"I think that is wise, Lady Sansa," Brienne affirmed Sansa's choice.

"When will you give us your established answer?" Albar pushed, his arms crossing before his chest.

"After I have had the opportunity to break my fast. I am very hungry, Ser Albar, and I would like to fill my belly and be sure my son has had enough for the time being."

"You heard the lady," Lyessa spoke up from the corner of the room. "You and Lady Royce should take up the last room up the stairs. Rest your bodies as it looks as though the two of you have been riding nonstop the past few nights. You could certainly use the rest Lady Sansa is speaking of."

Myranda looked at Sansa hesitantly, her arms locking across her heavy chest. Sansa nodded her head gently.

"I believe there is wisdom in that council. If Lord Wyman delayed in sending his men, after you instead of with you, then perhaps it would be best to proceed into the presence of Lord Stannis with alert minds." Tyrion spoke up, placing a hand on Sansa's arm.

"Still playing the part as Hand to the Queen?" Myranda bit.

"I am just as eager to come to a solution as you, Lady Randa, but I also have a young son I must care for. He has been out in the cold winds strapped to my body for several weeks." Sansa insisted. "I must think of his health and safety as I think of my own. In that, I must trust my lord husband, a man who has proven himself an effective strategist time and again. I am sure that Danaerys across the sea does the same with her council," Sansa turned to look at Jorah. The Mormont man gave a hardened hum, pushing his bowl away.

"What Dany decides is not always the best of decisions," Jorah stood, wiping his hands on his worn shirt. "But I will have to agree with Lord and Lady Lannister on this case; waiting would be our best option. Not waiting Stannis out, no, but we would be easy victims, toys in his hands, if we came to him dragging our asses on the ground."

"So it is decided then?" Lord Albar sighed. "We must respect the wishes of the Warden of the North, Myranda. You are as tired as I, even more so I do not doubt. Let us go off to the empty room and sleep our weariness away. Morning will dawn soon enough, sister. And patience is a virtue you must be continuously reminded of."

"Thank you," Sansa looked at Albar who nodded in response.

"I still wish you would reconsider, Sansa," Myranda sat on the bench next to the Stark girl, her hand reaching up to brush a lock of auburn hair from Sansa's face. "I will come by your quarters later this evening. You do look rather exhausted, and your hair is in desperate need of a proper brushing."

"I have missed the grace of other ladies in my company," Sansa placed her hand on the back of Myranda's, pressing her friend's palm into her cheek.

"My father would faint to hear you speak of me as a proper lady," the plump woman let out a loud laugh.

"You are more so than my sister was…" Sansa closed her eyes as she thought of haughty little Arya, her hair chopped short and her skirts always a mess.

"You will find her one day, Sansa. We will get her back to you." Myranda placed a kiss on Sansa's forehead. "I have kept you from your much needed food long enough; eat, and I will forgive you for making me wait if you are more presentable this evening."

"Yes, my lady," Sansa laughed. "And take no ill will toward Lyessa; she knows who I am, she is a Stark supporter. She wants me home near as badly as I want it."

"I will not, dear sister, I will not." Myranda stood from the table and left Sansa's side.

"While that girl does get on my nerves far more than I care, I cannot help but admire her…tenacity." Tyrion responded when Myranda and Albar were out of earshot.

"She says much the same about you," Sansa ran her fingers through her husband's shaggy hair. Robb's fingers were tangled in the porridge that Tyrion had left untouched, grubby fingers pulled to his mouth to suckle off the soggy wheat.

"Are you pleased to wait a day?" Tyrion asked.

"A part of me wishes we could know our fate already, know if we are to be abandoned, but at the same moment, I am afraid. I am afraid to die because I know that Robb could not survive yet with me, without us." Sansa turned to her own porridge, her stomach yearning for the comfort of food.

"If it comes to a battle, m'lady," Podrick spoke up. "I mean, Lady Sansa, I will take you and Robb far from the fighting, as instructed me."

"You will do no such thing!" Sansa scolded the boy.

"I told Podrick to do so, and so he will." Tyrion spoke up.

"My mother did not leave my brother's side during the battles. She was not with the men, but she was in the council tent, she was by his side. I will be with the men, as close as I can be to the battle."

"You are making foolish decisions now, Sansa, and there is little use in arguing with you about a future we are not yet assured of."

Sansa took hold of Robb from Tyrion's arms. The boy let out a happy cry as his mother took him in her arms. "This is the only future I want to be assured of," she kissed her son's cheek tenderly.

"He is growing quickly, as you observed earlier, he will be a lord under Pod's protection in days it seems," Tyrion was trying to change the subject, and while Sansa figured she should be mad at him for it, she could not.

"I will be at peace the day I can hear his screeches of delight echoing the walls of Winterfell. I wish that castle to be filled with more laughter, not painful cries and groans." Sansa stood. "I think Lady Randa is correct, I need to be resting today, so as not to look like a dead woman brought into Lord Stannis' presence."

"I will accompany you, Sansa," Tyrion pushed himself from the table. "Podrick, please bring my lady and myself lunch when the time is right."

"Yes, m'lord."

Brienne and Harry had already slipped off, Sansa figured by their absence of voice in the earlier decision they must have eaten hurriedly and crawled off to sleep when it was originally promised. She would owe the two of them many thanks for their loyalty, especially when she had only future promises to pay them with.

Tyrion followed Sansa up the stairs and into their room. He shut the door behind him, turning to watch Sansa sink to the floor, placing the wriggling Robb down. He began to crawl, making headway for the stack of blocks that Tyrion had placed out for him.

"Do you think that Ramsay Snow has my sister?" Sansa wondered aloud.

"I am not sure, Sansa, but I do know that it was Littlefinger who arranged the marriage; who knows what tricks he had up his sleeve." Tyrion responded, coming to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder and a kiss on her temple.

"Parts of me wish it were so, no matter what cruelty she might have endured in the hands of the flayers, but other parts of me wish she were dead. I have only heard whispers of Ramsay's strange cruelties from my days of childhood, and I fear he only grew into them as he aged. I cannot help but have my stomach turn at the name of the Boltons. I heard rumor at White Harbour that he raped Arya; that he did terrible and cruel things to her—"

"We will remove the Boltons from Winterfell, we will get this real or pretend Arya's revenge."

"I want to be the one to do it," Sansa could not believe the rage that coursed through her veins. "I want to be the one who watches him fall. My father taught my brothers that we are to extract the punishments; the judges are the ones who swing the blade. My brothers are not here, but if they were they would avenge my little sister. They would make sure that Ramsay paid dearly."

Tyrion's hand squeezed on her shoulder. "I think you are right, Sansa, but your words worry me."

"I am so tired, Tyrion. I am tired of the cruelty dealt to the innocent, and I want my home back. I want its walls rebuilt and its hearth rekindled."

"We will do so, Sansa."

"I just fear that we are too late, that we are so close and it is only going to crumble before our eyes. How could Stannis have mercy? Could it be true that the Boltons and their supporters are weak? Am I to trust Lord Wyman?"

"I think, my love, that it would be much more dangerous for you to not trust them at this stage. It is either take a leap or stay cooped up and risk losing our son." Tyrion leaned forward and placed a kiss on her mouth.

Sansa looked over at Robb who sat contentedly on the ground with crossed legs; his hands filled with a block each, his mouth working the wood of one of them. Sansa's arms lifted and she wrapped her arms about her husband's middle, burying her face in his chest. Tyrion held her gently, rocking her back and forth.

Her limbs grew heavy and she could sense Tyrion sinking to the ground, cradling her body in his grip. Her eyes were weary, and she tried to fight the instinct of sleep. But the warmth of the room, and the blanket being pulled over her body, her husband's gentle stroke over her hair, and his soft humming sent weeks of exhaustion through her blood and she succumbed to more sleep, eager to fall into a slumber so deep that war could wage around her and she wouldn't stir.


	58. Vulnerability

The night sky was black, the clouds had moved away from the full moon casting light down on the newly blanketed hill below the window of the inn. Sansa had settled onto the seat next to the window, her knees drawn to her chest, her arms crossed over them, her chin resting on her top forearm. Tyrion was in the room behind her, putting their clothing in sacks to pack on the horses tomorrow.

"How many days' rides do you think we are from Winterfell?" Sansa sighed.

She could hear Tyrion stop. "I would say two, maybe three days if we are not as concerned with being caught."

"Do you think we are in safe hands when we find Stannis, or should we still be calling ourselves Alayne Stone and Hugor Hill?"

"I hate that bloody name near as much as I hate Yollo."

"So you are saying you trust Stannis?" Sansa turned, her legs dropping from atop the bench to swiftly touching the floor.

"I do not think it wise to trust him," Tyrion answered.

Sansa crept to the floor to sit next to Robb who was chewing on some small figurines Myranda had brought with her from the castle at White Harbour. "I think it would be more believable that two bastards got themselves into the trouble that we did, what with a little one, than it would be for…"

"Lady Sansa?" Tyrion finished for his wife. Sansa's cheeks reddened.

"Some people know that we came together, that we consummated—because we have Robb…but I daren't think that everyone does. Perhaps it would be best to remain as quiet as possible until we come across Stannis and decide for ourselves whether he is to be trusted or not." Sansa offered.

"And approach him as what, Sansa? A dwarf wants to fight in his army and he's brought along his bastard wife and bastard son in tow. We are going to have to decide before we go to the Baratheon king whether we want to join his side or not."

"Do you think he has Jon with him?" Sansa looked over at Tyrion eagerly. "Do you think that Jon is one of the men riding with Stannis to free Winterfell? Of course, he would never agree to having Stannis as king of the North solely, but surely he would fight to rid the place of the stinking Freys and Boltons."

"I cannot say, Sansa. It could be very possible that he is riding at Stannis' side. It could be possible that Jon is dead." Tyrion replied dryly, his eyes widening as soon as he realized what he had said. "I am sorry, my lady, I spoke callously and without thought, and for that I am sorry."

"I have seen too many horrors in my life, Tyrion, to not know that his death is a possibility," Sansa turned from him to wipe at a stray tear that had released itself; she was upset regardless if the truth was a possibility or not.

"I should be yearning to give you hope, my love, and that was not the conduit to provide it." Tyrion groaned. "I just want to be out of this inn and in the walls of Winterfell. It will be nice to have the upper hand for even a moment."

"Did Albar deliver any more news about Rickon in my absence, at the beginning of the breaking of fast?" Sansa asked.

"I did not hear anything, and I think he would have told you, my lady. His loyalties remain to you; I have them as a courtesy." Tyrion folded a shift and stuffed it into the bag. "We should be getting to bed, Sansa. We are in for a long day of riding tomorrow, and you are tired as it is."

Tyrion came to her side, scooping up Robb in his arms. He placed a rough kiss on the back of his son's head, his short arms holding the baby about Robb's middle and supporting his bum. Sansa smiled sweetly at her husband.

"I should," Sansa rose to her feet wearily. She watched as Tyrion placed their son on the bed, running his fingers through the boy's curls, straightening his child's shift.

Sansa could not help but swell in pride once again as she watched her husband treat her son with the same gentleness and kindness he had treated her with from their very first moments together. Robb was tangling his fingers in Tyrion's golden curls with a large grin upon his face. He let out a cooing sound, then proclaimed Tyrion "dada" several more times complete with bouncing.

"We are we going to do with him, Tyrion?" Sansa asked.

"What do you mean?" Tyrion turned to her. "We are going to raise him wherever we are placed—be that Winterfell or Casterly Rock. He will learn the ways of both his parentages; he will be here for the rough Northern winters and down along the coast for the hot Southern summer. He will be a lion pup of extremes. He will grow strong and fierce with the beauty of his mother."

"I do not mean in several years' time, Tyrion." Sansa watched as Tyrion climbed the bed, pulling his son toward the center. "I mean, what are we to do with him when it comes to the battle?"

"I will send you and him away to the place where Shireen and Lady Selyse are kept. I am sure Stannis does not allow his prized wife and beloved daughter to be anywhere near where the two of them may be hurt. Especially with the battle he originally had against nature in regards to Shireen's life."

"What happened?" Sansa joined him in the bed, her body lying on the mattress across from him. She curled her body toward him, her knees bumping his. They created a tight circle around Robb, who sat restlessly between the two, babbling and chewing on his hands.

"Shireen had grayscale as a baby. She nearly died from the disease. I have not seen the girl in many years, but from what I do remember, she is severely disfigured on her face from the attack. Most of her cheek and brow on her left side is covered in the gray hardened dead skin that comes with the condition."

Sansa listened intently, her hands running over her son's cheek and neck, grabbing his arm gently.

"I cannot imagine seeing my child go through such suffering."

"Most mothers opt to have their children sent away across the Narrow Sea than see them go through such ordeals. But Stannis loves his daughter dearly and would not allow her to depart from the castle." Tyrion placed a hand on his son as well. "I now understand what Stannis must feel for Shireen."

"Perhaps we will have a pretty little girl one day," Sansa smiled warmly. Tyrion looked at her with his piercing green eyes; she could see him fighting a smile that wanted to burst across his mouth. "But first we need to be sure that everyone makes it through the battle."

"And that means you and Robb are to be far from it."

"As I said before, my mother was with my brother and his men. I am a daughter of the North, the woman who is to be warden if my brother Rickon is not alive. I must be there; I must be able to show strength for my people."

"Strength is one thing, Sansa, but foolishness is another. I am telling you as your strategist, as well as your lord husband, that being in the midst of all the fighting is dangerous and you could risk losing the North you have worked so hard to claim."

"And what about you, Tyrion, are you going to rush into the depths of the battle? Are you going to require me to sit safely in the hills while you go out and risk an injury much more severe than the one you received at the Battle of the Blackwater?"

"I am, Sansa, because I do not have blood and family to prove my fealty. I have only my actions and my allegiances. What would it look like if I was hiding out with my wife who would be the one to even give me a claim to Winterfell? Would it not peak interest more strongly if I was beside the men, swinging my axe with pride and confidence?"

"I think you are being unfair," Sansa whined.

"Oh, Sansa, I do not wish to fight. Please." Tyrion reached out to try to touch her. "I just want to be with you for one more moment, with our precious son, in this small reprieve we have been given by the gods before we are to meet with more kings and captains and leaders. I want to admire that my son has small teeth poking through his gums because of his age. I want to celebrate with you that he is making his way easily on all fours, despite spending most of his recent time across your breast. I want to rejoice that he is making headway in taking clumsy steps. And, gods, Sansa, I want to fuck you." Tyrion groaned.

"I cannot," Sansa shook her head. "I will rejoice with you in all these things, but Tyrion, please. I am not ready for you to touch me in such ways again. I thought I could while I was in White Harbour, but I cannot."

"Sansa?" Tyrion turned to her with a concerned look in his eyes.

"I am too filled with fear and with hate. I am afraid of closing my eyes and seeing Petyr looking back at me. I am scared that I have ruined myself, that I will never be able to have you touch me and hug me and hold me without feeling a little bit revolted at the sensation. I am sickened with anger at the Freys and the Boltons. I wish to serve the two households a helping of poisoned pigeon pie. I want to see Roose Bolton choke while his bastard Ramsay Snow,  _never Bolton_ , is slaughtered the way my brother was before his eyes."

"Sansa," Tyrion reached across their son and placed a light hand on her arm. "Do not feel ashamed about the ways you feel. You have every right to be angry with what the Freys did, what the Boltons are doing. You have every right to want to seek your revenge." Tyrion drew in a sharp breath through his nose, before letting it out as loudly. "And as for my touch; I will have to honor your wish as I did before. I will not be with you in such a way until you want me to."

"And I want you to be close to me, I want to be able to have my kisses turn into something that brings your pleasure."

"But it cannot be, for now."

"I am sorry, Tyrion." Sansa answered.

"You changed your mind before, I am sure it can be changed again. I just hope that this next time you come to me with more desire than the first time."

"I promise, I will." Sansa vowed. She leaned forward behind Robb to kiss her husband. Her mouth's embrace was deep and sensual, her mouth over his trying to express in what ways she wanted to be with him, but her body would just not allow a touch further than this.

He was breathless when she let his lips go, pulling away from him. "Fuck the gods," he groaned. "You are going to make this difficult to be patient."

Sansa pinked, turning to the table to extinguish the lone candle. She pulled Robb into her side, turning to face Tyrion. She closed her eyes, trying to even her breath, as her son who had once been filled with energy quickly tumbled into slumber. She heard her husband's breathing fall into the same time, but Sansa's mind would not stop racing. She turned to her back, looking up at the pitched ceiling, the world silenced by the falling snow, and began to feverishly pray to both the old gods and the new that she would be returned to the warm halls of Winterfell once more.

* * *

 

The snow was still falling as the small group of weary travelers gathered before the inn. Podrick was holding the head of Sansa and Tyrion's horse and Myranda's sturdy pony, while Brienne, Harry, Jorah, and Albar stood with their horses. The animals were breathing smoke into the air.

"So we are in agreement to set off to spy on Stannis' camp, then?" Brienne looked about the group. All seemed to nod their heads solemnly, but Sansa only bit her lip.

"My lady, feel free to speak," Tyrion commanded when he saw Sansa's silence.

"I—I think we need to take this risk, we need to trust Stannis in this," Sansa's eyes were heavy due to her lack of sleep, but she had made her choice in the late hours of the night, and she felt peace.

"That is suicide," Myranda groaned. "Talk your lady wife out of this, Tyrion, she is clearly exhausted and afraid, she is not thinking clearly. We should wait for Lord Wyman's army, to be sure that we are protected in the event that Stannis is not so kind!"

"Hold your tongue, Myranda Royce!" Sansa responded harshly. "I am well aware of the risks we face if we decide to turn ourselves over to Stannis, that he could potentially kill every single one of us." She held Robb tightly in her arms, the cold winds of winter whipped at the cloak which she wrapped around her head. "But we need to start taking risks or we are never going to gain the victory we hope to achieve. I have no desire for the crown; I cannot say the same for Lord Wyman or the Royces, but I want nothing to do with King's Landing. I want to see my family's home rebuilt, I want to see the Starks in Winterfell once more. I want the North to have their true wardens. The only way I am going to achieve what I want is if I have Stannis' help."

The company around Sansa fell quiet, each looking at their toes or the falling flakes flittering from the dark clouds above, all too stunned at her boldness to say a word.

"We are not going to make it to Stannis' camp in good time if we are going to move at this pace," Tyrion spoke up, making his way toward his mount. "We need to begin our trek if we have any hopes of keeping from being buried alive."

Jorah was the first to move, grabbing hold of his horse's reins in his hand tightly as he mounted. Brienne followed in suite.

"Where my lady goes, so do I." Brienne vowed.

Sansa smiled at the lady knight.

"I still think this is the worst decision, but you have won too much of my admiration and care for me not to follow you, Sansa." Myranda accepted her brother's help in mounting her steed.

"I should turn back and inform Lord Wyman what your decision is, my lady," Albar agreed.

"Do what you must," Sansa handed Robb up to Tyrion, whom Podrick had helped into his saddle. "But if you can win his aide, I will be indebted to you."

"Anyone with eyes, Sansa Stark, can see that you mean the best in your crusade for the North. I do not know of Lord Wyman's plans regarding the Iron Throne, as it seems people's opinions regarding power seem to change almost daily, but I have hopes that he will want to see the Starks as Wardens in the North. Especially as he brings forth your brother."

"If he does," Sansa corrected the man, swinging up into the saddle behind Tyrion and settling into the hard leather.

"Let us pray that the gods are good," Albar responded, turning his horse and nudging it into a trot in the opposite direction.

"We shall," Sansa sighed.

"I will lead for the first few hours," Brienne offered. "Scout ahead to be sure we are not going to be ambushed."

"I will ride with you, m'lady, if I have the permission of m'lord." Podrick turned to look up at Tyrion. The dwarf laughed.

"Go, Podrick; we have an army enough between Ser Harry, Ser Jorah, and Lady Randa,"

"Seeing as Lady Randa can handle men all on her own," Harry conceded. He earned a seedy glare from the plump lady, who urged her horse past him, her head held high in the air. Harry followed her pleading half heartedly for her pardon, which she seemed unlikely to grant.

Jorah turned to Tyrion and Sansa, his face was weary and strained. Sansa knew that he wanted to be far from the lands he grew up in, far from the memories of wife who left him and a painful memory of past failure. From the information in the stories Tyrion had whispered to her in the dark nights, Jorah had found his own love across the Narrow Sea.

"I will owe you great sums of money and laurels, Ser Jorah, for your help in winning back Winterfell," Sansa spoke to the man.

"I am in need of neither, my lady, it will be nice to see the Starks back in their true titles," his smile was forced and worn. "Even if you bear a Lannister surname,"

"If the stories are true about Rickon, then my brother lives and we nearly nest in the walls until he makes his triumphant return."

"You had best pray that return comes then, my lady." Jorah looked to Tyrion now. "Are you ready to begin this journey you were so eager to commence?"

"After you, ser," Tyrion nodded his head. Jorah shook his balding head, turning away from the pair.

"Are you sure that this is the decision you wish to make, Sansa?" Tyrion placed his hand on her thigh.

"It is the one that is right; I cannot say I am not frightened or nervous, but I believe I am right."

"You had better hope that Stannis has the opinions of the Night's Watch, your bastard brother may be the voice that spares you."

 _Jon Snow_ , Sansa thought, guilt rushing through her body as she realized she had not thought about the boy in so long.  _He is so close. Will he be the next to speak highly for me, to save me?_

_Or will he reject me because I have a Lannister son?_

"We will swear allegiance to helping Stannis reclaim King's Landing. He and Danaerys will decide from there who will take the crown," Sansa kept a straight face.

"Be careful not to spread your allegiances too thin, Sansa," Tyrion warned.

"I just want my home back; as long as someone can give me that, I will swear all the fealty they need." Sansa felt her heart pounding in her chest.

Tyrion's reply was grim. "That is what I feared."


End file.
